


Home is where Your Heart Is

by RTSideStories



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Hale Fire, Alternate Universe - Werewolves Are Known, F/M, Gen, Kid Fic, Super smart Stiles, nanny fic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-02-11
Updated: 2015-04-04
Packaged: 2018-03-11 14:47:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 20,654
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3330008
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RTSideStories/pseuds/RTSideStories
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles has just taken the job as the new Hale Nanny, where he'll be responsible for a sixteen year old rebellious Derek Hale, a bedwetting six year-old Scott Hale, and mute Isaac Hale.  The parents are never home, and Stiles becomes a human anchor to kids, and he's never been MORE in.</p><p>What started out as a job to get him on his feet turned into something more that he'd never expected.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

_Wanted:  For HIRE IMMEDIATELY -  Live-In Full-Time Nanny for a seventeen year old werewolf, as well as two werewolf pups ages 9 and 6, one having special needs.    No formal education or training required, just needs to be good with kids and capable of providing excellent service.  No applicants under 21, please.  Must clear background check, drug test, and parental approval following formal interview.  Applicants must submit to fingerprinting and utilize pre-approved vehicles for travel.  Nanny will work from  6 AM to 8 AM, as well as from after school until 11 PM, Monday through Friday.  Overtime starts at 40 hours.  $75/hr, overtime is $95/hr.  Room and board is including, 3 meals a day will be provided by home chef.  Don’t apply if at all hesitant about working with toddlers.  They are high maintenance and will run you ragged for 12 hours a day.  They bite, wrestle, and will need attention constantly.  Only the brave need apply.  Email resume and interest in application at_ [taliahale@halecorp.com](mailto:taliahale@halecorp.com)  May God have mercy on your soul.

 

Stiles had been staring at the online ad on his Kindle Fire for what seemed like hours.  Like most college graduates with a degree in history that didn’t want to go into teaching or higher education, Stiles was looking for anything to get him by.  Money was tight, and school loans weren't going to repay themselves.

The job market, unfortunately, wasn’t much.  Need for someone with an eidetic memory and capability of reading 1000 words a minute was a popular selling point that Stiles frequently marketed, but not when it came with a history degree or someone with a rapier personality like Stiles.  

Huffing, the twenty-three year old graduate, a lanky male with an obsession with plaid patterned button ups, yanked at his bushy brown hair, screaming on the inside as he rocked back and forth on his father’s couch.

The money was TOO good not to at least try to apply for it.  He’d be stupid not to.  It was EVERYTHING he needed.  Room, board, and enough money to choke God with.  Not to mention it was the freaking HALES.  HaleCorp was revolutionary in the medical field, and Talia Hale would be one hell of a resume addition, even if it was just being a Nanny.

In reality, he HAD to apply, there just wasn’t any question given his circumstances.  

Moving back in with his father had been embarrassing enough, and going back home to Beacon Hills (a small town in California) had been even worse.  Though working at Starbucks in Los Angeles was NOT going to be a thing for the rest of his life, and his father had offered him a temporary position at the Beacon Hills Police Department as an Archiver.  Even that wasn’t much better, and would be over when his project of digitizing the department’s paper arrest records.  Which would be two weeks from then.  

Frustratingly, Stiles glanced back at his email for the hundredth time, still sitting where he’d written it on his nearby laptop..

 

_To:[taliahale@halecorp.com](mailto:taliahale@halecorp.com)_

_Attach:  Stilinksi,Stiles_Resume.rtf_

_Subject:  Application for Nanny Position_

_Mrs. Hale,_

_My name is Stiles Stilinksi, and I am a twenty-three year old graduate of Berkley, and I’m a human.  I have a degree in history, and finished my program with a 4.0 GPA._

_My experience in child-care is limited, but I grew up with my best friend, Scott McCall, who was bitten as a werewolf when he was still a baby.  I know what werewolf children are like, I grew up with one my entire life.  (Trust me, spending time with Scott during werewolf puberty and his knotting phase is ENOUGH horror!  I think I can handle some kids!)_

_I have a father in law-enforcement and would have no issues passing background checks.  There is no criminal record on my file,_

_My phone number is on my resume, and my phone is attached to my hip 24/7._

_Thank you for your time and attention,_

_Stiles Stilinksi_

_[stiles-stilinksi@gmail.com](mailto:stiles-stilinksi@gmail.com) _

 

“You know nothing about kids Stiles, this is a MISTAKE.  Something else will come up!  You don’t have to take the first god-paying job you find!  They’re werewolves and probably have all kinds of crazy needs!  This is a mistake!” Stiles repeated over and over again, hovering his mouse over the send button and moving it back and forth to the delete button as well.  

“Mom…  What the hell would you do?” Stiles whined, slamming his head atop his laptop.  Though it was a short lived question.  

Stiles knew exactly what his mom would do.  She’d do whatever it took to live her life and not be a burden to others.  She wouldn't whine about it and would have already sent in the resume.  His mother was strong.  Hell, that’s exactly why she wasn’t there with them anymore.

He sighed and hit the send button, screaming as he did so, falling to the floor in a loud thump and kicking his legs in the air like a child.  “I’M SO STUPID, THEY SHOULD CALL CHILD SERVICES RIGHT AWAY!” he moaned,

“I take it you applied to that Nanny job?” a gruff voice asked.

Stiles didn’t bother to move, as his father hovered overhead with a bowl of popcorn.  The greying Sheriff with the growing pot belly sighed painfully.  

“Shut up!  I watched cousin Rose that week and didn’t kill her!” Stiles shouted.

Sheriff Stilinski shook his head.  “Maybe not, but you did let her nearly crawl down a flight of stairs and called me at the station sobbing when she pooped her diaper,” he said, plopping down next to his son.  He rested the popcorn between them.  “Aw hell, you took care of me well enough after mom passed, I know you’re not awful.  But Stiles, you should just take the research assistant job at Berkeley, they were practically in tears when you turned them down.  14 bucks an hour is not that bad,” the Sheriff bemoaned.

“NO!” Stiles said stubbornly, clamboring back up to his feet and on the couch next to his father.  “I read and research what I like to read and research.  Just because I can read like a computer and remember everything I’m exposed to does NOT mean that I want to be some stupid TA the rest of my life, or a source of mobile information for a research lead with a power trip.  So yeah, NO,” he answered, sniffing the popcorn.  “This is buttered, you can’t have this,” STiles yelled, snagging the popcorn away from his father.

Sheriff Stilinski rolled his eyes, snagging back the bowl.  “This is my house that you’re currently living in, you can’t have this either,” he spat.

The two argued for a good ten minutes into an episode of Criminal Minds before Stiles felt his phone buzzing loudly to his side.  He pulled it from his pocket and answered it, figuring Scott was calling to brag about his job at the local vet.

“Hello?” Stiles asked, a little more whiny than what was probably necessary.

There was a curt throat clearing on the other end of the line.

“Mr. Stilinski, my name is Talia Hale.  I’d like to invite you for an interview today at 5:00 this evening.  Are you willing to come?” she asked, not wasting a moment of time.

Stiles blinked a few times, shaking his head as he tried to digest the information.  That’s right, he actually HAD sent in the application.  Though he’d never expected to get a reply THAT fast.

“Uh, yes!  Yes, absolutely!  Where should I-”

Stiles was interrupted almost immediately.  “Meet my husband and I at Starbucks.  We’ll be in the corner with the laptop.  Have your father send us a copy of your background check, I know he must have one on file.  Drink plenty of liquids, we will have an instant drug test waiting and a nurse to watch you while you take it.  Don’t be late and waste our time,” she responded.

Then, just like that, the other end of the line hung up.

Sheriff Stilinski glanced at STiles, whose face seemed genuinely perplexed.  

“Who was that?  Lydia?  I’ve only seen a few people in the world ever give you that look,” John said, raising an eyebrow.

Stiles shot up immediately, reaching for his Kindle that had been laid out on the table in front of him.  He began deleting the most recent books to make room on his hard drive for the Childhood Care section of the Kindle Store.  He could get in at least 20 or so books by 5 PM.

“Dad, can you get me a copy of my background check that I had no idea you ran on me, SHAME ON YOU.  Email it to me or call your peons and have them do it” he exclaimed, running through his book and purchasing with what little credit he had left from his Christmas Amazon Gift Card.  The rest would come from his dwindling bank account.

“For what?” John asked, chuckling as he saw his son go into his usual reading trance.  It was really a special kind of thing to witness, as Stiles’ “Focus” hit.  His eyes would go a million miles away, but his fingers and hands would become the nimble little suckers that only became useful to turn pages.  Stiles was elsewhere during his Focus.

“I have exactly four hours to read everything on raising a werewolf pup before an interview with the Hales.  I’m sure there are plenty of books I can cram in my brain until then, and I don’t have time to waste going down to the Police Station.  Also, I’m borrowing your suit, go pull the cobwebs off of it” Stiles said, already brain-deep in the first book that had finished downloading.  He crouched down on the couch, already swiping the tablet within just a few seconds of the last page appearing.

John, not a very religious man, still crossed himself at the thought of his son actually help raise children.  

+

Five o’clock on the dot, Stiles had sat down next to Kyle and Talia Hale for his interview.  Which started by having the two review his background check while a nurse watched Stiles piss on a drug testing strip.  It naturally came back negative, which the nurse informed both adults of.

With the disgusting and humiliating part over, Stiles fumbled nervously with his hands, as the two constantly tag-teamed him with an endless assault of questions.  

Kyle Hale was a mixture of a businessman and a professional weight lifter.  The werewolf male, a Beta in the Hale pack, was build rock-solid and threatened to burst out of his business suit.  He had copper brown hair, neatly combed to the side.

By contrast, Alpha Talia Hale was more slimlined, but had much more prominent claws than her husband had.  Claws that she kept tapping anxiously against the starbucks table.  Her long black hair, tied off in a ponytail, kept bobbing over her shoulder.

It was 6 PM when the “interview” like questions were over.  Afterwards came the onslaught of childcare questions, most of them regarding differences between werewolves and humans.

“Can a werewolf child eat a chocolate chip cookie?” Talia asked.  The latest in her long line of child-care questions.  She was VERY vigilant.  Her questions were all health-wise.

Stiles nodded.  “Yes, so long as they don’t have an allergy.  Werewolf biology does not share dietary restrictions of canines, that’s a myth,” he answered promptly.

Kyle smiled, clearly impressed.  “So then you’d feed our children sweets?” he offered.  Unlike his wife, Kyle was more interested in actual actions Stiles would take during the day when it came to the ids.  Though most of them centered around exercise and play.

Taking a moment to analyze his brain for information, Stiles shook his head.  “Werewolves from the age of 8 through 12 require mostly rare red meats to stimulate muscle growth to prepare for puberty.  From 13 until 19, a high carb diet with more red meat is needed.  After that, ordinary foods can be consumed without a diet restriction.  So no, I would not feed them just sweets,” he answered.

“There is no way you know this as a History major.  I’m sorry, but…  There’s no way,” Talia answered, folding her arms suspiciously.

Stiles laughed, hoping to break the tension as he fiddled with his ill-fitted suit.  “I have an eidetic memory and have the ability to read at incredible speeds.  Simple stuff is like 1000 words a minute, but more difficult texts are about 500 a minute.  Childcare books are the former, so I got some good information before I came here.  I didn’t mean to be deceitful, but I didn’t want to put that out there immediately,” he answered.  There was no sense in lying, werewolves had a second sense about that sort of thing.

“Ah.  Well that’s impressive,” Kyle said, smiling and turning to his wife.  “He read all of that and memorized it for OUR children,” he said happily.

Talia nodded, as her features relaxed at last.  

“Well, we’ve asked just about everything we need to.  I'm convinced...  Now I think we should explain a little bit about the home and our family,” Talia said, sighing.  

Stiles nodded.  He'd googled a bit about the Hales, but the information was conflicted.  All he knew is that they had some kind of wild son who had been in trouble with the law.  

Talia smiled.  "We have two daughters, Laura and Cora.  Laura is a surgeon in New York, who specializes in cardiac procedures.  Cora is in college, off at MIT.  You won't have to worry about them, they are very capable adults," she explained.

While Talia beamed proudly, Kyle frowned.

“Our teenage son is…  Difficult.  He’s going through werewolf hormones, and has a tendency to go into rages, and is in and out of anger management classes.   Scott, our 6 year old, is sweet and never causes trouble except for occasional bed wetting and night terrors.  Though our 9 year old Issac has…  Issues,” Kyle explained, clearing his throat.

Talia shook her head.  “Isaac is mute from a psychological conditioning.  He has the physical capability of talking, but chooses not to.  It’s the aftermath of a time in our family’s history that i’d rather not discuss at this time. His issues can be worked through,” she explained.

“Oh,” Stiles said, immediately trying to hold it together.  No wonder the pay was so high.  

Kyle took a sip of his coffee, sighing wearily.  “We’ve gone through 12 Nannys in the last year.  Between our teenage son and boys that have special problems, it's more than most can bear.  None of the agencies will even consider us anymore.  Which is why we’re having to try other options,” he said.

“That bad?” Stiles asked, shirking away from the parents.

Talia nodded.  “I won’t lie.  Our children are difficult to handle, and being a human puts you at a disadvantage physically.  Derek , our teenage son, could probably harm you, and he has done so in the past.  Though we’re in a bind and won’t refuse you.  If you want the job, it’s yours,” she explained

“I uh…” Stiles said, not sure if this was even remotely worth it anymore.  Mute kid?  Bet wetter with night terrors?  A fucking teenager?  All werewolves that might eat him?  Money was one thing, but putting up with something like that could actually be dangerous to his health.

Talia sighed.  “We’ll pay you the whole month in advance, tomorrow, and you can quit anytime as long as you watch them this weekend.  Kyle and I are going out of town for a conference and need someone to make sure they don’t burn the house down,” she spat out, as if put out by her own children.

Stiles’ base instincts felt bad for the kids.  

Stiles bank account felt greedy for a whole months pay in one day.

“Sure.  We can do a test run,” Stiles answered.  He tried to hold back his horror.

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

Stiles wasn't the least bit surprised that the Hale home ended up being nothing short of a glorified mansion.  Something in the realm of old Victorian and modern brick, the three-story home was a marvelous sight to behold.  Even the lawn was perfectly manicured, as Stiles passed by a woman in thick blue-jean overalls, tending to the flowers that lined the cobblestone pathway to the front door.  Expensive cars were parked in the garage, as well as a more useful minivan that Stiles expected was his to schlep the kids around in.

Looking down at his messenger bag, a vintage piece from the 50's found at a flea market for three bucks, and the rolling luggage he'd stolen from Lydia during one of their trips down to Florida, he immediately felt out of place.  

Being born the son of a single father meant that money was always an issue, and "Past Due" was their family motto.  To be even in the shadow of such wealth seemed intimidating to say the least.

Still, he had to suck it up and deal with the fact that this was his new home.  After giving a 3-hour notice to the Police Department (with promises to finish the archiving after he quit or got fired, whichever came first), Stiles packed his bags and spent the night with his father, trying to cram the man's 23 years of child-raising wisdom into his brain.  Which sucked, because HEARING advice didn't have the same sticking effect with his memory as reading did.  Though Stiles had at least skimmed through a few basic child-care books and finished at least 30 episodes of SuperNanny (skipping over the boring parts and filler content), and could probably last a full weekend without killing the kids.

With that mild confidence at the back of his mind, Stiles took a deep breath.  "You can do this Stiles.  You are a strong independent Nanny who don't need no professional license!" he exclaimed mentally, as he hopped up the three wooden steps and knocked firmly on the door.  

The wait was not long, as the door swung open almost immediately.  

Standing before him was one VERY tired man.  Hitting a good six feet in height, and probably in his mid to late thirties, a slim male with carefully sculpted blond hair yawned in front of him.  His wardrobe was a cross between a butler and a mafia leader, with a scraggly red tie.

"Nanny Stiles, I presume?" he asked, yawning loudly again as he rubbed the dark circles under his eyes.

Stiles nodded.  "Yeah, I'm Stiles.  Stiles Stilinski, nice to meet you" he said, holding his hand out in an attempt to be polite.

“Wait ten minutes and see if you say the same thing," he grumbled, opening the door and signaling for Stiles to enter the home.  "Please come in, I'm Whittemore, the house director of domestic staff.  You can call me Jackson if you like, but when the Masters are home, they'll probably expect you to call me Whittemore," he explained.

"So you're the butler?" Stiles asked, stepping inside and rolling his eyes at the fancy title.

Jackson huffed.  "Yes, I'm the butler.  I'm also the poor sod who gets to take care of the kids after they run off another Nanny.  Here's hoping you stay longer than the last one did.  Poor Nanny Bibb was out of here in six hours," he groaned, shaking his head.  

"Ow," Stiles said, glancing around the house.  He expected the demon children to pop out of the ground and drag him straight to hell.

Taking Stiles' bags, Jackson nodded in the direction of the spiral staircase at the end of the massive living area.  "The children are at school and won't be home for an hour or so.  Thank God.  I love them, but they’re a little much for me," he whined, trotting towards the stairs.

Stiles took his sweet time following, trying to take in everything around him.  He could seriously get used to this.

The front door led straight into a massive living area, complete with the biggest television set that he'd ever seen in his life, with a sound system attached to the walls.  Black carpeting beneath his feet was like a cloud, and three soft sectional couches surrounded a solid glass coffee table, which held several dozen remote controls, and a wireless keyboard Stiles figured controlled the TV and doubled as a computer.  

Not far beyond the living room was the kitchen, a black and white tiled floor and top of the line equipment installed.  A wine rack stood proudly to the side, next to the fridge that could have held enough food to feed each and every Homeless Veteran from every war ever fought.  Oddly enough, there wasn't a dining table, only a small island that offered a bowl of fruit.  He wondered where the family ate together.  

Following after Jackson, Stiles made it to the second floor, which was closed off by two massive brown doors that blocked off the entrance to what Stiles assumed was the hallway.  

"Second floor is the Masters' rooms.  It is the only part of the house that you and the children cannot enter.  Mr. and Mrs. Hale prefer their privacy, and there are many important documents and software on the computers inside," Jackson explained.

Stiles pouted.  He couldn't imagine the kids liked knowing they couldn't go into their parent's bedroom.  After his mother died, Stiles pretty much exclusively slept with his father until he was 10, and even then Stiles had to move his bedroom right next to his father's when he was “too old”..  

He suppressed the urge to mouth off, as they reached the third floor.  Two brown doors similar to the second floor was in place, but Jackson pushed through them easily.  "The third floor belongs to the children, myself, the groundskeeper, and their caretaker.  Because the children are werewolves, their rooms are soundproofed much like the Masters', otherwise they'd never get any sleep with all the minute noises we humans make," he explained.

Stiles sighed in relief.  He figured Jackson was human, he didn't have that weird glowing eye thing going on like the werewolves did, but Stiles could never tell with 100% accuracy.  

They passed a room with an open door, and Stiles couldn't help but glance inside.  Definitely had to be Derek's room, the entire thing was a mess, with clothes laying everywhere, and the bed sheets scattered all over the place.  He also spotted a few pornos laying brazenly on the edge of the bed.  The whole room screamed “I don’t give a fuck”.    

"Derek insists that I don't touch his things except for his laundry.  I suggest the same to you," Jackson pointed out.  

Stiles kept walking, past two closed doors, a door decorated with a bouquet of roses hanging off the door, and a room with a black strip of tape saying "Keep Out If Locked - Whittemore" on it.  

Which left the last door that Jackson pushed open.  "This is your room," he explained.

Stiles had to do a double take.  The walls were a soft cream, and a huge wall window gave a perfect view of the backyard forest.  White drapes fluttered in the open breeze, airing out the room.  His bed was definitely bigger than a King Size, and was already turned down with two fluffy pillows waiting for his head to hit.  A TV was mounted to the wall and attached to what Stiles assumed was a computer.  like the downstairs, a wireless keyboard was laying on the dresser under the television set.  

He had plenty of bookshelves, a dresser, and a walk-in closet that Lydia was going to drop dead after seeing.

"The room is yours to use as you see fit.  Should you stay longer than a week, the Masters have authorized me to give you a five thousand dollar stipend to purchase things you feel you need for the room," he said, plopping Stiles' bags on the bed gently.  "In the meantime, would you like me to unpack your things?  The children should be here shortly, and I'm sure they're EAGER to meet you," he said with a devilish grin.

Stiles nodded.  "Yes, please!" he said, ignoring Jackson's bratty attitude and moving over to the open window.  He touched the glass, amazed at how high up he actually was.  Though he had a wriggling knot in his stomach that he just had to get out.  "So...  About the kids...  You know them pretty well, right?" he asked.

Jackson nodded, as he began slowly untucking Stiles' endless number of plaid shirts on the bed to straighten them out.  "I was there when all of their children were born, except for Laura.  Her and I were actually in the same class together.  The Hales hired me out of high school," he explained.

"So uh...  Hints?  Tips?  Tricks?  Is there a Konami Code I should be aware of?" Stiles asked, hoping to get SOME help from the butler.  

Huffing, Jackson shook his head as he moved to get Stiles' shirts and hang them up in the closet.  "I don't know what went wrong after Cora, but boy did things go WRONG," he answered, going back to the suitcase to retrieve Stiles' jeans.  "Derek has always been a rotten child.  Ever since he was four, he'd just have these random outbursts of rage and anger.  He nearly destroyed the house when he was 10, hitting the foundation hard enough that it cracked the ceiling!" he exclaimed.

Stiles gulped.  He was picturing a baby green hulk with wolf fur.

"Then there's Isaac.  When he was about 5, the kid went through some...  Troubles.  When said troubles were gone, he came back and never said a word again.  It's been four years since the child talked to anyone," Jackson said, as he moved to unpack Stiles' underwear into his nearby dresser.  "Then Scott?  Well, I don't know what's Scott's problem is, but he wets the bed constantly and wakes up in some of the worst panic attacks I've ever seen.  Or night terrors if he's having a good night.  Which is why I'm as ragged looking as I am, I've been up three nights straight with a sobbing werewolf pup in the midst of panic attacks," he said, stopping as he grabbed Stiles' socks.

Stiles ran his fingers down the cool window, as his face fell in an equal rhythm.  He pictured himself in his own panic attacks after his mother died.  Life sucked for a long time after Claudia Stilinski passed away from terminal blood cancer.  Though not as painfully as watching her suffer for years, never getting out of bed for weeks at a time.  

"Are you...  Are you really intending on staying here?" Jackson asked.

Brought out of his own little world, Stiles shot his head up and turned around.  Jackson had finished unpacking his belongings, and was sitting on Stiles' bed.  He yawned again loudly.

Stiles shrugged at the question.  "I have no idea," he answered.

Sighing, Jackson shook his head.  "At least you're honest," he grumbled under his breath.  The butler’s face was mildly dissapointed.

 

+

 

Jackson wasn't all that bad of a guy.  He and Stiles broke into the wine, sharing a glass as they shot the breeze.  

Apparently Jackson's life story was pretty grim.  He and Laura Hale had been best friends growing up, and the Whittemores had been pretty big players in the medical industry.  

Unfortunately, both of his parents had died in a car accident when he was seventeen, and the government was about to ship him off to a foster home clear across the county.  As a result, the Hales took him in and offered him a job as a housekeeper to earn money for college.  When said housekeeping turned into running the Hales' lives and keeping their home and children in check, they hired him on as a full time "Head of Domestic Staff".  

Though before Stiles really had a chance to tell his own story (Jackson was VERY into himself, that much was obvious), the sound of a car  pulling into the driveway caught his attention.

Jackson put down the glass of wine.  "They're home," he said grimly.  

Stiles gulped again.  First impressions were everything, and he was generally not the best when it came to social settings.  Maybe younger kids would be a little easier?

Any objections he might have had was ended prematurely, with the door slamming open and banging against the wall, nearly throwing the door off its hinges.  

"I'M HOME," a loud male bellowed.

The first body through the door was definitely the teenager, Derek Hale.  He was probably a good foot shorter than Stiles, but made up for in muscle tone and facial hair.  Even at sixteen, the kid had a full scruffy beard, just a little testosterone short of growing something fuller.  He wore a leather jacket and distressed jeans, the stereotypical "I'm a badass, fear me" ensemble that would make the Fonz roll in his grave.  Derek threw his backpack at the wall, where it made a probably priceless painting fall off its hinges and plummet to the ground.  

Not far behind him were two much smaller bodies.

The shortest, naturally, was Scott Hale.  He probably didn't even come up to Stiles' waist, if even that tall.  Scott had soft chocolate brown hair and eyes, and seemed to be wearing a cartoon shirt of some kind that Stiles didn't recognize.  His backpack had a huge stuffed teddy bear sticking out of it.  "Whitt, I'm hungry!" Scott said, yawning loudly as he wiped his eyes.  

Last, but not least, was what Stiles assumed was Isaac Hale.  About perfectly halfway in height between Derek and Scott, the lanky child quietly took off his messenger bag backpack and placed it carefully on the glass coffee table.  He wore a perfectly pressed polo and jeans, had soft brown hair like Scott, and didn't say a word as he pulled out a schoolbook and started his homework.  

"Children!  If you have a minute, there's someone here who'd like to meet you all!" Jackson said, shoving Stiles forward.

Derek, who'd climbed on the recliner in the corner as he typed away on his cell phone, snorted.  "For fuck's sake, they did NOT hire a Manny!" he said, as he barked away in laughter, snidely flipping off Stiles as he went back to his phone.  “If you know what’s good for you, leave me the fuck alone dumbass,” he said darkly.  

Stiles cringed.  About as well as he figured the punk would take him.

Though Isaac didn't come any closer, he did at least look at Stiles with a mild interest.  

Scott, however, came up within an inch of Stiles' body, yawning as he put his arms around Stiles' thighs.  "Are you our new Nanny?" he asked sleepily.

Stiles nodded, trying to make eye contact with all three of them.  "Yep.  My name is Stiles, and I’m going to take care of you!  Nice to meet you all," he said, bending down and putting his hand by Scott's face.  Within just a few seconds, Scott sniffed at Stiles' hand.  The childcare book on werewolf kids had been pretty clear on how to handle smaller children just starting to learn about boundaries and territory.  Like a cat or a dog, they needed to be familiar with a scent before being overwhelmed with it.

Seemingly satisfied with Stiles' "smell", Scott rubbed his cheek on Stiles' hand, adding his own smell to make the nanny’s scent easier.  "Hi Stiles...  I'm sleepy from playing with Alli.  Can I take a nap?" he asked, holding his hands up and clearly wanting to be picked up.

Stiles bent down, picking Scott up and letting the pup throw his arms around his neck.  He couldn’t help but smile at the adorableness.  Scott was definitely going to be his little buddy, he knew it.  "You sure can!  Where'd you like to sleep?" he asked.

"Somewhere with plastic.  The pissbaby's gonna need that or a diaper," Derek spat, laughing like some schoolyard bully.

Scott cringed in Stiles' body, as his face buried deeper and deeper into Stiles' neck.  He was whining audibly.

Stiles shot Derek an incredulous look.  

Derek just smiled with a smug little grin.  "What?  You gonna spank me cuz I called him a pissbaby?  Good luck, I can tear out your goddamn throat with my teeth," he said, bringing the fact home as he snapped his jaw and let a set of two very long fangs spit out of him.

Mentally recalling the three or so books he'd read on rebellious teenagers, and the one book on violent werewolves, confrontation was not the best way to deal with this.  Derek was right.  Stiles couldn't do anything to the teen without getting into a fistfight or getting wildly overpowered and thrown through a wall.  Then he’d get fired, or worse.  Which was probably what the dickhole teen wanted anyway.

Instead Stiles shook his head.  "No, I'm going to take Scott to bed and let him take a nap.  When he wakes up, we'll make chocolate chip cookies with Isaac, get big glasses of milk and watch whatever they want on TV, and you're not invited to our Cookie TV party!  Isn't that right guys?" he said, chastisingly.  It was the kind of empty punishment one might give a baby.  Which was all Stiles could really do until he knew more about Derek.

Which Derek immediately scoffed at.  "Oh God, what am I going to do without cookies!  I can't even go on!" he said dramatically, laughing loudly in Stiles' face again.

Isaac seemed to blandly shrug, going back to his homework and not giving Stiles a second thought.

Scott, however, seemed to at least stop shaking from embarrassment.  Though he did hiccup, clearly about to start crying.

"Can..  Can I have TWO cookies?" he asked, as Stiles started walking the child up to his bedroom.

Stiles patted him on the back, trying to soothe the child as best he could.  "Yep, you can have Derek's," he answered.  

Being the coward that he was, Stiles jogged upstairs with Scott, unable to handle all three of them at once.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm all for suggestions on what you'd like to see these four go on adventure wise! :D


	3. Chapter 3

The kids were not as bad as Stiles had been led to believe.

Well, at least the LITTLE kids weren't as bad as he'd been led to believe.  

Derek was a colossal asshole, bullying his little brothers constantly, breaking anything that crossed his path with little regard for their value, and had gotten detention three times in the first week Stiles became his nanny.  (Which Stiles had to come and pick him up from, considering the third detention had gotten him suspended from school until the following week.)

On a completely different tangent, Isaac was a nonexistent problem.  In fact, Isaac was nonexistent PERIOD.  The child got himself ready every morning, came down to breakfast and did what he was told, got great grades in school, and never so much as bothered Stiles.  Anything he did need, he got for himself.  

Scott?  Well, Stiles was currently dealing with Scott's biggest issue.

"I'm sorry," Scott said, with his eyes fallen to the bottom of his carpeted bedroom, not making any eye contact.  He was fresh out of a bath, and in clean pajamas.  Stiles had gotten him washed up after Scott had wet himself and the bed the night before, making for a great start to both their Saturday mornings.

Stiles had finished bagging up Scott's peed-upon bedsheets, putting them inside of a laundry basket that Jackson used exclusively for Scott's accidents.  He turned to face Scott, putting on a soft smile.  The kid had already been crying for a solid hour while he was in the tub, wildly embarrassed, after waking Stiles up and informing him of his wet status.  No sense in acting angry, Scott already felt bad enough.  Not to mention Derek popped his head in to call him a pissbaby again, throwing a diaper inside the bathroom.

Yeah, Scott felt bad enough.

"It's okay, accidents happen," Stiles offered, picking up the laundry basket and handing it off to Jackson, who'd been waiting by the door and moved on to do another set of laundry.  Bending down, Stiles patted Scott on the shoulder.  "Now, how about we go downstairs and get you some breakfast?  I bet we can watch the basketball game with Derek!" he announced.

Sniffling, Scott nodded.  "Okay," he answered.  

Stiles sighed, watching as Scott reluctantly walked out of the room with his head down.  The poor kid was like a different person at night and in the morning, like a depressed zombie.  In the afternoons though?  He was bright, happy and fun.  The bed wetting was like an all-encompassing issue that zapped him of happiness.

He'd done PLENTY of research.  The general consensus was that it was a mere disconnect between the brain's bladder control and the child's bladder.  There were some who did it out of fear, or post-traumatic events rearing their ugly head in the middle of the night.  The first was DEFINITELY out, because apparently Scott did it on a nightly basis for at least the last two years.  Stiles hoped the latter wasn't the case, but nothing in Scott's file (or Jackson's memory) seemed to indicate that.

So maybe there really was something wrong.  He'd have to look into that and get a doctor's appointment.

Once the two made their way to the first floor, Stiles saw the oh-so-regular layout.  Derek on the recliner, nose stuck in his phone, Isaac in the corner on a bean bag playing his video game, and Scott splayed out near the coffee table, coloring in a book of dinosaurs.  

Stiles glanced at the second floor doors as he walked by, noting they were locked as usual.  Mr. and Mrs. Hale hadn't been home in a week.  He'd gotten a text from Talia, informing him that they would be out the following week as well.

"Your parents must be busy people this week!" Stiles said, hoping to brighten up the situation.

"Mommy and Daddy gotta work A LOT," Scott said, coloring the dinosaur on his page a bright orange.  He was very detailed in how he kept the colors in the lines.

Stiles rose his eyebrows.  "How much is a lot?" he asked, turning up to Jackson and Derek.

"Enough that they have to hire a nanny to deal with their distractions.  Meaning US, naturally.  That's probably why they're gone so much.  Less of us to deal with, more money they can make," spat, clacking away on his smartphone.  His face was even more sour than normal.

Jackson sighed.  "With all due respect young Master, your parents are making the world a better place.  Hale Corp has saved more lives than-"

"Shut the fuck up Whitt, I could fucking care less you shitty piece of fucking fuck," Derek said, in his all too familiar obsession with profanities.  

The room got very quiet, as Scott's tense body leaned against Stiles' when the older one sat down on the couch behind him.

"Thank you Whittemore, could you bring Scott his breakfast?  I'm sure he's famished!" Stiles said, hoping to change the subject.

Jackson shot Derek an angry glare, while nodding confirmation for Stiles' question.  "Of course Nanny Stilinski," he answered, turning around and making his way back to the kitchen.  He returned just a few minutes later, with some cooked red meat wrapped in bacon.  Unlike the other boys, Scott had a unique diet for his age.  He dug into his plate, eating quietly as he continued to color at the same time.  

They all sat in unique silence, focused on their own tasks.  Though as halftime for the basketball game rolled around, Stiles watched Derek get up and stretch out.  He moved towards the bathroom, accidentally dropping his phone, where it landed on the pillow next to Stiles.

Scott was snoring quietly, having knocked out for his nap while sitting on Stiles' lap, so Stiles gently reach over to snag it.

As Stiles picked it up, nearly ready to hand it back to Derek and call him out, when it buzzed in his fingertips.

 

Jordan:  dude did u ask yet Kate is pissed if u ditch

 

Stiles glanced over, hearing the third floor bathroom slam shut.  If prior experience of Derek's bathroom visits were any indication, and with the average werewolf teenage puberty requiring constant "stimulation", Stiles had plenty of time to be a stalker nanny.

Quietly, Stiles slid open the smartphone's lock.  He was surprised there wasn't a passcode, but considering nobody would ever steal Derek's phone, he probably didn't need one.  

He opened up the most recent string of messages, starting back from the message that started back earlier that morning.

 

Derek:  This manny is WEIRD.  

Jordan:  how

Derek:  He's like not doing any of the nanny bullshit.  He's not trying to make me wear "right" clothes, isn't yelling at Scott for pissing the bed, and isn't being an ass to Isaac for not talking.  This morning he scrubbed Scott's piss sheets and helped him take a bath, not yelling once.  It's like he actually cares, but I know that's bullshit.  He's a good actor.

Jordan:  good?  bad?  pissed?

Derek:  Dunno.  At least he's not a bitch like the last one.  I had to get the last one out immediately, she was threatening to put Scott in diapers.  Bitch.  She deserved all she got.

Jordan:  then dont bitch abut him.  let him du his thing

Derek:  I'm not bitching!  He's just WEIRD.

Jordan:  whatver.  u in for party tonit

Derek:  What the fuck is a tonit?  Do you mean TONIGHT you illiterate fuck?  You've got a goddamn keyboard on your phone, USE it.  

Jordan:  ass.  ask ur nanny.   argents are in.  wil be awsm, kate's got some primo shit

Derek:  I'm the DD.  I don't do the primo shit.  Get some beer though, I will drink that.

Jordan:  dude u are the wrst kind of bfrind

Derek:  Shut up you love me.

Jordan:  yeah whatevr

 

"Does Derek have a friend named Jordan?" Stiles asked, locking the phone back as he put it on the coffee table.  He'd seen everything he needed to.

Scott nodded, as he picked up his meatball snacks.  "Yeah.  He's Mr. Parrish's son, and he's really nice!  He's Derek's boyfriend, but don't tell no one cuz that's a SECRET," he said, breaking the secret.  

Stiles snorted, while he also watched Isaac silently groan with his eyes.  Apparently that was a big secret.

"You won't tell no one, right?" Scott asked again, looking to Stiles with those lovely puppy eyes.

Stiles nodded, and wasn't surprised at how honest Scott was.  He'd read enough werewolf psychology books in the week with the kids to know he was probably an equivalent to an Alpha-mate in the Hale pack, or a den mother at worst.  Either way, it was supposed to be a position of respect and authority for younger pups.  For Scott, Stiles really was like a surrogate mother.  For the other two?  Well, he was more like a third parent in terms of pack, but wouldn't have the same control like he had over Scott.

"Is he nice?" Stiles asked, grabbing his tablet and hooking it into the attachable keyboard.  It was a gift from the Hales, for him to use however he liked.  (Though he was painfully aware it was a bribe to keep him on longer than a week, considering he hadn't run off screaming.)  

He still had access to the Beacon Hills police department archives, considering nobody down there knew how to remove his administrative access from their secure website.  Stiles also wasn't going to correct them.

"Uh huh.  Jordan is super nice and plays catch with me when he comes to play with Derek!" Scott offered.

While he booted up his iPad, Stiles turned to Isaac.  The boy was quietly playing on his Nintendo 3DS, like a shadow in the room.  He didn't even have the game sound on, but paused it as he felt Stiles' gaze.

"Isaac, is Jordan nice?" Stiles asked.

Nodding, Isaac kept a bland expression.

"Thanks!" Stiles said, going back to his iPad and not saying anything else as Derek returned from the bathroom.  He retrieved his throne of a recliner after picking up his phone from the coffee table, turning up the basketball game and watching it, screaming horrifically as the officials were "punk ass fuckdick pieces of shit", and swore up and down on each play.  

Sailors had nothing on Derek Hale.

Stiles, while Derek was distracted, keyed in Jordan's name in the archives.  When a few arrest records popped up, Stiles mentally swore, and turned to his instant messaging app.  His dad was going to be at home that Saturday, probably doing ignored office work.  Like Stiles, John's whole life was work related and never really stopped.  

 

Stiles:  "Dad, can you tell me something about a Jordan Parrish?  Derek's apparently this kid's friend, and I want to make sure he's not insane.  Or a serial killer.  Or both.

 

It didn't take long for John to respond, though his father's slow typing took forever to get his words out.

 

John:  "He got picked up from school with a bit of pot, I remember coming to pick him up.  School wanted me to do it, as the Sheriff to make him scared shitless.  Got busted at an underage drinking party too, again, I did the arrest.  His father got the charges dropped, saying it was just a youthful mistake.  I agreed with him.  Nothing big.  I know the family, Jordan wouldn't do anything stupid.  He's just being a boy trying to act tough like a man."

 

Stiles nodded.  He had been pretty much the same, doing a little recreational pot back in college, and he'd gotten batshit drunk in high school.  Neither had gotten him arrested, but certainly could have.  Just because a kid did those kind of things don't make them heartless serial killers.  Well, mostly.

 

Stiles:  "Thanks Dad."

 

Turning off the iPad, Stiles tried to feign interest in the basketball game, but eventually went to cramming in another childcare book.  He'd been trying to get interested in teenage childcare lit on hostile personalities, but there was so much "tough love" bullshit that he knew was never going to work with Derek.  Though the latest one he'd been reading was particularly interesting, and it was based all on trust.  Because apparently, trust was something teens needed.  Which he could totally understand, it was why he and his father were always so close.

"Hey Manny, there's a party tonight at my buddy's house.  If I promise not to get in detention for a month, can I go?" Derek asked.  

Stiles smirked, FINALLY having an in.  The only reason he even asked is because Jackson confiscated Derek's keys every day after school, per the Alpha's orders.  Only Stiles could give him his car keys, or ANY keys.  He guessed now was the best time as any to test out the book's theory on trust.

"Where's the party at?" Stiles asked, pretending to be disinterested, and acting as though he was turning a page in his kindle.

Derek rolled his eyes.  "My friend Jordan's house.  It's just me and a few guys and a girl, we've all been friends our entire lives, not a big deal," he answered.  He aggravatingly tapped his foot against the leather recliner.  "Can I go?" he yelled impatiently.

"Are you going to use drugs or drink alcohol?" Stiles asked, glancing up to finally establish eye contact.  While he wasn't as good as a werewolf, he'd gotten a pretty good idea on how to tell when someone was lying, just by facial cues alone.  It was amazing the kind of things one could learn from books, the internet, and blogs.

Growling, Derek shook his head.  "No drugs, I'll probably drink a beer or two.  Everyone fucking drinks at my age though, so that's not a big deal either," he said.

"It's also illegal," Stiles said, shifting his body.  "My dad's the Sheriff too, so definitely would look shitty if his son's nanny-kids got raided," he explained.

"Oh my GOD," Derek groaned, whining loudly.    He clawed the

Stiles hummed under his breath.  "I can't give you my blessing if you're going to drink and be outside of this house, I've got a nanny code of ethics somewhere on my laptop," he said, raising up a hand.  "But!  I'm not stupid.  You're probably going to drink no matter what I do, and based on what your mom and dad told me, you've lied to them before.  Besides, I've read enough drinking statistics to know that as a solid factoid," he said,trying to maintain a calm demeanor.  "So instead, how about you just agree to never drink and drive," he offered.

"WHATEVER, I'm not a fucking DUMBASS.  I would never do something that fucking stupid," Derek shouted, glaring at Stiles.

Stiles nodded.  "Okay, you can go.  JACKSON, can you bring Derek the van keys?" he announced.

"YEAH, well you're a-...  What'd you say?" Derek said, face melting in confusion.  He'd been ready for a fight.

Folding Scott's fresh laundry that Jackson planted next to his side (while throwing Derek the family van keys), Stiles didn't make eye contact.  "You promised me you don't use drugs.  You promised me that you're not going to drive under the influence.  I don't have any reason not to trust you.  Just be back by 11, which is the curfew your mother and father set, that's not my call," Stiles said.

Slowly, Derek got up, grumbling about his stupid curfew.  He ran to grab his leather jacket, and was already texting with his phone.  

Stiles cleared his throat, getting Derek's attention.

"For the record, if you use drugs, drive under the influence, or get back after 11 without calling me or having a good reason, I'm not going to trust you again.  If you want freedom with me as your nanny, make sure I trust you," Stiles said, as a mixture of a warning and helpful advice.

Derek didn't respond, instead choosing to slam the door behind him.  

Though when he did, it didn't shake the foundation as it usually did.

"Small victories," Stiles thought to himself.  

-

11:10 came around, and Stiles kept staring at the text message on his phone.  Thumping his leg repeatedly, he felt nervous knots forming in his stomach.  He was on his sixth cup of coffee and had re-read the same page on his kindle twelve times, and all of the kids had already been put to bed, with the exception of Scott, who had BEGGED to sleep on Stiles' lap.  

He checked the phone again, as if to confirm the number he'd already memorized five hundred thousand times.

 

Derek:  Dropping a friend off.  Be home by 11:30.  

 

Stiles was in a blender of feelings, none of which college or life adequately prepared him for.  For one, if Derek was actually dropping a friend off as a DD, Stiles wasn't going to have an issue.  If he was lying, and he probably could be, then Stiles would be pissed.  

Also, if the whole trust exercise didn't work, he was TOTALLY going to give that stupid book a one star on Amazon, and then write a dissertation on how it was a crock of shit.

The mystery soon came to an end, however, as the front door swung open and was just as quickly shut behind him.  Derek was there, stripping off his boots and yawning loudly as he kicked them obnoxiously in the doorway.

"You're back," Stiles said, waving his cell phone in the air.  "Thanks for texting me," he said.

Derek shrugged.  "Whatever.  Asshole did WAY too much fucking pot, dude was tripping balls," he spat.

Stiles noted the disgust in Derek's voice.  Thank God.

"Who'd you drop off?  I don't think I've ever really met your friends before," Stiles asked curiously.  He was totally NOT going to stalk the fuck out of pothead.

Derek shucked off his jacket, ramming it on the coat rack.  "My buddy, Chris Argent.  Chris got hammered, and his twin sister Kate was passed out on Jordan's couch after fucking her boyfriend Deaton senseless.  He didn't want to stay the night, so I gave him a ride," he explained.

"That was nice," Stiles said, sipping his cup of coffee.  He locked his Kindle, glancing up at Derek.  "Really though, thank you for texting me.  I appreciate that, and I didn't have to worry about you being dead in a ditch somewhere.  That means a lot," he answered.

Unresponsive, Derek groaned under his breath and made his way to the staircase.  "Whatever.  Thanks for not being a total bitch tonight.  Whitt's got a stick up his ass when he watches us," he said, jogging up the staircase, and ending their ever brief conversation.

With Derek gone, Stiles grabbed the tablet Talia had given him.  Derek's phone was lowjacked, and Stiles could track anywhere he'd been, assuming there was cellular service.  Opening up the tracking app, it took Stiles a few minutes to see Derek's path that night, highlighted in red over a google maps overview.  He'd promised himself to check just once, and only after he knew where Derek had been going.  

Which thankfully, there was only one Argent family in the town, and Stiles actually knew them from his father's work.  He knew their house, and nearly lost it when he watched the little red line on Derek's phone pull into the Argent home, back out, and then straight back to the Hale House.  

Grinning, Stiles turned off the app, and put it to the side.  He imagined  a little victory fanfare music in the background, as he leveled up to Nanny Level 2.

Derek had kept his word.  

Small victories.

  
  
  
  



	4. Chapter 4

Driving a Camaro SHOULD be fun in most cases.  ESPECIALLY the brand spanking new 2015 model that Talia Hale had bought all but a few months ago.  Normally, Stiles would have taken the family van, but Jackson had taken it to go grocery shopping and run by the local butcher to get the specialized ABF pigs and cows that the Hale family ate.  

The ride SHOULD have been fun, considering the car drove like butter on an ice skating rink, but a gnawing pit in Stiles' stomach made the ride more stressful than anything.

He SHOULD have waited for Jackson.  JAckson would have been calmer.  Jackson would have probably handled the situation better.  With age came wisdom and all that bullshit.

Still, considering it was an emergency, Stiles didn't have time for shoulds.

Whipping into the Beacon Hills Elementary school parking lot, Stiles was out of the vehicle and jogging towards the front doors in an instant.  He could hear the kids playing in the back playground, attempting to shake off the visions of him getting wedgies over by the same swingset he'd used as a child.

Stiles pushed open the glass doors, and went straight into the main office, where the secretary pointed him in the direction of the hallway just behind him.  Knowing exactly where the Principal worked, Stiles made his way through the all too familiar oak door.  

Inside, Stiles was greeted with Isaac sitting solemnly in a child's seat.  He was across from two older looking individuals, a man (the principal) in his late 40s, and a woman (Mrs. Purtle, Isaac's teacher) who probably could double as the cryptkeeper.  

"Sorry, so sorry...  I got here as soon as I could," Stiles said, taking a seat in the woefully tiny chair right next to Isaac.  There was another seat available near the adults, but based on Isaac's terrified expression, he needed a buddy.

"Quite alright.  You must be the new nanny for the Hales?" the Principal asked.  

Stiles nodded.  "Yes.  Stiles, Stiles Stilinski.  I'm the current legal guardian for Isaac when his parents are away, so...  I'll be taking care of this issue," he said, attempting to be as professional as he could manage.  He took Isaac's hand, clutching it tightly.  "What's the problem here?"

The ancient woman slammed her hand on the Principals desk.  "Isaac CLEARLY has issues with authority.  Today in class, I asked him to read a passage from our English textbook and answer the question that followed, and this is not the first time it has happened!" she exclaimed, in a high pitched whine.  She was the literal definition of crotchety old woman.  

Stiles glanced over to Isaac, who nodded confirmation of the events.  Which, really, was a fairly dumb set of events to be put in trouble for..

"Enough is enough.  I will not handle insubordination in my classroom, and Isaac REFUSES to answer when I call him," Mrs. Purtle cracked, tapping her high heel annoying to the side.

Stiles raised an eyebrow.  "Isaac is mute.  You can't expect him to-"

"Actually, Isaac is NOT mute, I've seen his file.  It's all in his brain, he can most definitely talk. He has the vocal cords to establish communication.  The fact of the matter is he REFUSES to talk.  THAT is what the truth is, Mr. Stilinski.  He's got a discipline problem, not a mental one," Mrs. Purtle said, folding her arms.  

Stiles felt Isaac tear his hands away from Stiles, folding them in his lap.

"Did Isaac answer the question at least?  Even if he didn't read, surely he would have at least pointed to the answer," Stiles asked, tilting his head curiously.  In the few weeks he'd been around Isaac, the boy had his own ways to communicate.  He could nod, shake his head, and point.   Means of nonverbal communication that kept him from being completely silent.  

"It doesn't matter if he did point to the correct answer, the fact of the matter is that he did not do as I said!" Mrs. Purtle spat.  

"But he answered the question and did what you asked of him.  I don't understand what the problem is," Stiles said, folding his arms.  It was clear the woman had an issue with Isaac.  Her posturing was aggressive, and reminded him a lot of Derek.

Mrs. Purtle scoffed.  "I don't care about the answer, it's the fact that he did not respond to me like he should have.  It's causing a distraction in my class.  I won't have that.  He'll either talk, or I'll put him in detention until he does.  And believe you me, I'm on VERY good terms with the superintendent.  If he doesn't straighten up soon, I'll have the school board involved," she explained, with a smug little glare.

Stiles frowned.  "So what are you saying?  That either Isaac talks or you, or you'll have him punished for it?" he asked, with a skewed glare.  A mixture of disgust and confusion.

"Yes," Mrs. Purtle said, turning to the school Principal.  "Isn't that right, Mr. Taylor?" she asked.

The room was tense.  Stiles felt his blood boiling, and all too familiar unfairness cropping up.  Voices of his older teachers echoed in his head.  "Cheater"  "Problem Child"  "Antisocial"  All the usual crap teachers spat when they had a child that didn't fit in their perfect little mold.  

Stiles turned to Isaac.  The child was facing away, attempting to be his usually stoic self.  Though Stiles saw his shaking hands, clearly terrified.  He took those little hands again, clutching them like his father had done for him.

Taking a deep breath, Stiles tried to remain calm.  He scanned dozens of potential scenarios in his brain, trying to recall some of the conflict resolution books he read during high school.  Because dealing with difficult teachers and classmates was something STiles had to do on a daily basis.  Being a near genius was a pain in the ass most days, but made for good experiences in life.

Then, it struck him.  

"What if Isaac could communicate in a non-verbal means that wasn't a distraction to the other students?" Stiles asked.  Before he looked to the adults for confirmation, he turned to ISaac.  "Would that be okay with you?"

Isaac's head snapped up, staring at Stiles incredulously.  As if he'd just been told he'd won the lottery.  Almost hopeful.  He nodded an affirmative.

"I don't know sign language, Mr. Stilinski.  And why would we make special accommodations for ONE child?  If we do that, then I might have plenty of other students who don't want to talk either," Mrs. Purtle said, scoffing.

"Statistically improbable.  A group study back in 2003 showed that out of a group of 30 students around a nonverbal student, less than 10% interacted with said nonverbal student, due to psychological stigmata with mental illness.  I can name at least 59 other studies with similar information, though with other psychological issues present.  I'm also sure the Hale Family lawyers would be willing to back me up on that," Stiles said, shooting the hag an angry glare.

He silently thanked god for the Internet.  Actually, he thanked God for reddit and people who had an endless number of links to assist him in his quest to know more about Isaac's condition.

Isaac kept staring at STiles, clutching his hand tighter, like he never wanted to let go.

Mrs. Purtle chuckled.  "Ah yes.  Money and power hiding the damaged kids' problems, rather than fixing it with hard discipline.  I love this new generation," she said, laughing right in Stiles' face.

Stiles wasn't a wolf, but he'd never wanted to rip someone's throat out more.  If Isaac had been an Alpha, he'd beg for the bite so he could violently eat Mrs. Purtle and then shit her out in a volcano.

"Mr. Taylor, I'd like to speak with you in private.  I'm also going to be requesting that Isaac be moved out of Mrs. Purtle's classroom.  I assume there won't be an issue with that?" Stiles asked, breaking eye contact with the lousy excuse for an educator, moving to Mr. Taylor.

Clearing his throat, the older male shook his head.  "Mrs. Purtle, please let me have a few moments alone with Stiles and Isaac to discuss this matter.  I'm sure we'll come to a satisfactory agreement with cooler heads," he asked politely.

In a huff, Mrs. Purtle shook her head, mumbling something rude under her breath as she strode past Stiles and Isaac, shutting the door a little harder than was necessary.

Isaac glanced up cautiously at the Principal, and then turned to stiles, gripping his nanny's hand tighter than before.

Then, like a damn breaking, Mr. Taylor beamed brightly.  He shot his hand out, and Stiles shook it firmly.  "Good seeing you again Craig.  Never figured it'd be like this though!" Stiles announced, laughing quietly.

Mr. Taylor smiled.  "How's your father Stiles?  Still punching the clock all hours of the day?" he said, in a fresh new demeanor.

Stiles finally relaxed, seeing Isaac look to him hopefully.  "Pretty good, pretty good, you know dad...  How's Gabby doing?  She's got to be what..  Twelve?  Thirteen?" he asked happily.

"Thirteen, and boy does she have a mouth on her!" Mr. Taylor replied, laughing quietly to himself.  

Stiles turned to Isaac, who had a very confused glance on his face.  "Oh, Isaac, this is Craig, or as you know him, Mr. Taylor.  He babysat me when I was little, and worked for my dad while he was in college.  We've known each other a very long time.  He's part of the reason I went into college, he was an AWESOME role model," he said proudly.

Isaac's shoulders seemed to slump down, relaxing.  He had a normal posture for a child again.

After a few more minutes of smalltalk regarding family and friends, Mr. Taylor sighed, and rubbed the back of his head.  "Sorry about Mrs. Purtle, she's nearing retirement age and...  Well, she's got a thing against wolves.  Old school racist.  I do apologize.  I've only been Principal for a year now, and...  Well, not all of the staff are people I want here, but I don't have a reason to fire them," he grumbled bitterly.  

Stiles put his arm on Isaac's shoulder, patting it.  "Yeah, well, I kind of got that.  So...  What can we do for Isaac here?  I'm serious about the nonverbal communication, I don't want a repeat of the old woman.  Maybe if I got him a cell phone he could type into with a notepad feature?  At least then he could answer questions and general conversations without having to write them all the way out." he offered.

Mr. Taylor shook his head.  "Cell phones aren't allowed in classrooms.  I'm fine with Isaac not talking, but...  I can't let him have a cell phone.  That would open a can of worms I don't want to even think about.  Parents would be in an uproar," he admitted.

Humming, Stiles tapped his foot, thinking to himself for a few moments.  He smirked, as a bolt of brilliant struck him.  

"What about if he had something that typed like a smartphone, but had no phone or internet functions.  Just literally a handheld tablet?  Something futuristic and new-school so he doesn't have to handwrite everything," Stiles offered.

Mr. Taylor nodded.  "I would have no issue with that.  I doubt the parents would either," he responded supportively.

=

All in all, Isaac had been "suspended" for three days.  In reality, Stiles and Mr. Taylor had agreed on that just so another teacher could get Isaac assigned to their classroom.  There was some paperwork involved, and keeping him in the hag's classroom was not an option.  So until said paperwork cleared, Stiles would rather Isaac be home.

Though before he took Isaac back to the Hale Home, Stiles parked outside of a local Starbucks.  Isaac, in the backseat, looked to Stiles quizzically.  

Stiles grinned, getting out of the vehicle and opening the door for Isaac.  "We're meeting someone who can help you out and get you a device like we talked to Mr. Taylor about.  An old friend," he said.

Nodding, Isaac clambered out of the vehicle, intertwining his hand with Stiles'.  An odd habit that Stiles had never seen his quiet little friend to before.  While Scott was very touchy-feely, Isaac was most certainly not.  Frankly, it was the first time he'd seen the child touch anything other than an inanimate object.

Suppressing the curiosity in his brain, Stiles led Isaac inside the quaint coffee shop.  It was fairly abandoned for 1 in the afternoon, with only a few community college kids taking up some space in the corner.

He strode up to the main counter, met with a bright eyed barista.  "Welcome!  What can I do for you?" she asked perkily.

Stiles smirked.  "All hail the Red Queen," he answered.

The barista's face plummeted, as if in shock.

"Ex...  Excuse me?  Did you say...  What did you say?" she asked again.

Chuckling, Stiles shook his head.  "You heard me.  All hail the Red Queen," he said, patting Isaac on the back.  "I have business with Miss Martin," he said.

Gulping, the barista glanced back and forth around the restaurant, fairly worried.  

"She's...  She's in the back room, right next-"

Stiles interrupted her, holding up a hand.  "I know where it is, thank you.  Just let her know I'm coming," he said, tugging Isaac to move alongside him.

They marched through the back storage area, stepping over the Starbucks supplies, several million cords and cooling towers, until they came across a door marked "Owner".

Stiles chuckled, knocking three times on the wooden door.  As he did, it swung open in a furious haze.

On the other side of the door was a tall woman in her middle twenties.  She had flaming red hair all the way down her shoulders, and flawless makeup applied.  Her wardrobe was fashion-forward, cleanly pressed.  Though most notably was the bushy red fox tail and ears that protruded from her rear-end and head respectively.

"Okay, seriously, WHO blabbed, I am SERIOUSLY going to stab a bit-...  Stiles?" she shrieked, in a genuinely intimidating tone.  Her angry glare turned to glee as she threw her arms around Stiles and squealed.  "AH!  STILES!  When the hell did you get back!?  I haven't seen you in YEARS!" she shrieked, nearly on the verge of tears.  

Stiles chuckled, patting her on the back.  "Lydia, you're the super-hacker FBI technological liaison and MIT graduate, I figured you had me low-jacked and could find me anywhere in the world," he answered.

Lydia rose her head up and immediately slapped Stiles across the face as hard as she could muster.  "You are an ASSHOLE, of course I did not fucking LOW JACK you.  I respect the privacy of my friends and-" she said, glancing down to Isaac, who was now hiding behind Stiles, frightened by the big mean scary red lady.  

"Who's the kid?" Lydia asked, as her face dropped.  "Oh my God..  STiles, if you tell me you have a son, I'm going to MEGA DEATH you," she said, folding her arms.

Stiles shook his head.  "No Lydia, this is Isaac Hale.  I'm his...  Uh.  I'm his Nanny, and I could really use your help," he asked.

There was a bland silence between the two, before Lydia sighed painfully.  "Come in...  I can tell this is going to be a very long story," she groaned, signaling the two to enter her office.

 

 


	5. Chapter 5

Lydia's office was most definitely not an office.  The "Owner's" Office was actually a small scale engineering laboratory, an exact replica of the woman's bedroom Stiles had spent MANY a Saturday night watching bad movies in with their best friend Danny.  He was all too familiar with Lydia's neurotic need for organization, which is why he and Isaac were standing FAR away from her work table.  

While Lydia was busy attacking Stiles' iPhone (a donation to Isaac's cause, Stiles could buy a new one later) with a soldering iron to make minor tweaks to the internal hardware, Stiles took a good look around him.

No less than twelve monitors with different screens and programs running were glowing atop a large desk, while many others were bolted to the wall.    A dismantled laptop was beside the workstation Lydia was currently at, and Stiles could see a well-used notebook with design alterations sketched out.  Then there were countless reference books, and half a dozen worn-out engineering documents that Stiles recognized as the ones Lydia's father had written.

"So...  A brilliant mind like you is...  A nanny," Lydia said, shaking her head as she adjusted her neck and safety goggles.  

Stiles sighed.  "You know, the more you say it like THAT, the more I regret all the times I sped-read your coding scripts in high school programming, finding the little bugs you were going murder violently," he said with a pointed smirk.

"Alright, alright, I get it!" Lydia said, smiling quietly.  Her tail swished back and forth.

Isaac watched it carefully, raising an eyebrow.  Stiles caught his curiosity and leaned over to explain.

"Lydia is a Foxling.  It's somewhere in between a were-being like you and your family, and a spiritual being, like a Fae.  Of course, Lydia is more or less her own supernatural being.  There's nobody quite like her anyway," Stiles said quietly.  

"As accurate as ever," Lydia said, with a colorful smile.

Stiles turned to his old friend.  "So...  What's got you here in a lousy Starbucks?  Last I heard from Danny was that you were a big fish in the FBI.  What happened?" he asked.

"That's a low blow coming from Mr. Nanny.  And if you MUST know, I outgrew those rather childish government people.  It's frankly a boy's game I wasn't interested in being a part of," Lydia explained.

"They fired you, didn't they?" Stiles asked, with a crooked grin.

"YES," Lydia said, huffing.  She looked up from her completed handiwork, pulling up her goggles as she reattached the motherboard together into a red case of her own design, with nine tails sticking out of scarlet red heart adorned with a gold grown.  "Those bastards REFUSED to listen to me when I said their security system had a weak point that was incredibly vulnerable.  Frankly, they dismissed me because of my youth, which pissed me the hell off.  I made my point when I hacked through the Director's computer and e-mailed the contents of his private e-mail, including photos of a mistress, to the entire office.  They upgraded their security system, but they went and blackballed me after firing me in the most spectacular way possible.  So I used my severance pay and savings to buy out the Starbucks here in town.  Seemed like a good way to make money, considering the competitive advantage.  Boyd runs the business, and I use my share of the profits to work on my startup company.  I'm hoping to launch a private firm in the next five years, and try to compete with Microsoft and Apple by creating top of the line hardware and my own Operating Systems.  Thank God for Boyd, because frankly I couldn't handle running this place otherwise," she explained.

Stiles smiled.  "Oh, so are you and Boyd are still an item? You guys were pretty good for each other back in high school," he asked.

Plugging the modified cell phone into one of her many USB slots, Lydia fumbled quietly with her keyboard.  She bit her bottom lip quietly.  "Not even...  Honestly, I had my eye on this one guy and I thought he liked me back, but...  But he never really had the balls to do anything about it.  I tried to forget about him and date Boyd, but in the end...  I guess I'm just a hopeless romantic wondering if he'll ever ask me out," she said, clacking away on the keyboard.  The phone she'd been working on sprung to life, with a unique fox face-icon.  A green bar appeared, as data began transferring back and forth.  "So right now I'm single and focusing on my career.  Boyd and I are just friends, and he actually is engaged to Erica.  Me?  Well, I'm still waiting on dumbass to take a hint," she explained.

"Well he's an idiot.  You're an awesome catch," Stiles said, turning to Isaac.  "Isn't she?  Cute face, and a mind that gives me a run for my money," he said.

The boy flushed, looking away from the VERY pretty lady.

"Well you got the idiot part right anyway," Lydia whispered under her breath.  Her typing against the keyboard ceased.  The ex-phone came back to life, with only a white-lined paper background horizontally.  "All done," Lydia said, unplugging the phone from her machines and hopping away from her desk.  

Moving towards Isaac and Stiles, Lydia bent down to Isaac's level, handing him the phone.

"So you're VERY lucky to have a Nanny like Stiles.  He knows who the BEST is.  You can't get this kind of quality machinery out of a store," Lydia said, winking at the boy's eye level.

Isaac held it in his hands, running his hands over the plastic screen.  His eyes grew as he watched a grey keyboard cover the bottom half of the screen, and a cursor started flashing on the lined paper background.  

"It's very easy to use," Lydia said, pointing to the keyboard.  "I kept the original text messaging interface, but used a program I'd already been working on for my own Operating System.  So all this thing can do is type messages, but you can also save them and export them to any PC if you wanted to.  You can clear the notepad by shaking it for a couple of seconds.  Here, try it!" she said, typing in a string of garbled text.

Excitedly, Isaac shook the screen, watching as the letters shattered into glass, falling away below the screen.  The boy smiled.

"I call the machine Voiceless.  It's one of a kind, and it's all yours!" Lydia said, patting Isaac on the shoulder as she stood up and stood inches away from Stiles' face.  "Now regarding my price...  I'm sure you realize that someone with a degree in Mechanical AND Computer Engineering, with years of experience in computer programming doesn't work cheap," she said.

Stiles laughed nervously, rubbing the back of his neck.  "Yeah, well...  I can assure you that; money isn't going to be a problem," he thought to himself, given that he had already gotten some serious savings from working a few weeks at the Hale House.  

Lydia folded her arms.  "I don't want your money.  How about you, me, and Danny catch up on old times?  Just whenever you've got some spare time on your hands, Danny's pretty flexible and so am I," she explained.

"Seriously?  That's all?" Stiles asked.

Nervously, Lydia glanced away from Stiles.  "Yes, and you can explain to us why you ran away from Harvard to go to some shitty four year school, cut contact from us and your father, and everyone you loved for three years...  Why...  Why one of the most brilliant and dedicated man I've ever known just...  Gave up on his dream of being a-," she whispered, watching as Isaac piqued his ears curiously.

Stiles glared at Lydia, eyes narrowing to cut off her sentence before she finished it.  "Later.  That's fine, we can talk, but...  Later," he said, gripping Isaac's shoulder tightly.  

Seemingly satisfied, Lydia took a deep breath and smiled.  "Alright then...  Well Isaac, do you like it?" she asked politely, turning her attention back to the boy.

With an excited nod, Isaac began typing away slowly with one finger on the digital keypad.  

"Thank you Miss Lydia.  I like it." Isaac typed.

Stifling a giddy grin that he actually could COMMUNICATE with the child, Stiles patted Isaac on the back.  "Awesome!  Thank you Lydia, so much.  I really appreciate it," he said, holding his hand out.

Taking his hand, Lydia CRUSHED it in a shake, earning a loud "owowowowowowowowow" from STiles as he crumpled to the ground.  "You're very welcome, and if you ever go longer than a week without calling me, I'll hunt you down and burn you with fox fire. Trust me, bald does NOT become you," she said, with pursed lips and a serious glare.

"I PROMISE!" Stiles exclaimed loudly.

_

With Jackson picking up Scott and promising to watch Derek, Stiles chose to take an hour for bonding with Isaac.  While the loss of his phone made him slightly on edge, he was grateful that the family van had built-in phone services to coordinate pick ups.

Because apparently having a means of communication that didn't involve Isaac speaking?  Well, Isaac was QUITE the "talker".   

They'd sat at the local ice cream parlor, where Isaac had "ordered" his own Strawberry sundae at the counter, while Stiles snagged himself his favorite peanut butter milkshake, thick enough that he actually had to eat it with a spoon.

Stiles was a little touched that Isaac HAD to sit practically within inches of Stiles in the booth they shared, but was also experiencing personal space issues, especially when the tiny little wolf would rub his head all over Stiles' shoulder.  He, like Scott, was scenting Stiles up and making him more familiar.

Too excited with his new toy to eat his ice cream, Isaac was typing away slowly with one finger, and immediately shoved it in Stiles' face.

"Thank you Nanny Stiles.  I love Voiceless!  It's so cool, it's like a phone!" Isaac said, pointing to the colorful logo on the back.

Stiles smiled, grabbing a napkin as he saw Isaac's sundae start to melt and dribble over the table.  "You can just call me Stiles if you want.  The nanny part is a little weird to hear!" he said, chuckling.

Shaking and shattering the previous message with great gusto, Isaac began pecking away at his keyboard again.  

"Okay Stiles.  I'll call you Stiles.  That is a weird name.  Why are you named Stiles?" he asked.

Taking a deep breath (and a huge mouthful of milkshake), Stiles laughed.  "Long story!  Back when I was in kindergarten, I had two best friends.  One of them was Lydia, who you met back at Starbucks.  The other one was Danny Mahalani.  My name is actually Geninrienremstiles, after my grandpa, but nobody can actually say that without having a mild heart attack, so Danny just started calling me Stiles.  It just stuck after that," he explained.

Isaac shoveled several mouthfuls of strawberry flavored ice cream in his gob, and went back to his machine again.

"That is a weirder name.  I'm glad I don't have it."

Stiles rolled his eyes.  "Gee, THANKS," he said, gently pinching Isaac's cheek, like Stiles had seen old ladies do in the movies.  He was met with a playful snort through the child's nose.  

They sat in silence for a few minutes, eating in silence.  At least, until Stiles felt Isaac's left hand wrap around his waist.  The kid was trembling.

"Isaac?  What's wrong?" Stiles asked, watching the boy slowly hunt and peck on his keyboard.

"Are you going to leave like the other nannies did?  I don't want you to leave.  You are a good nanny and I want to be friends.  Please don't leave."

Like being speared with thousands of lances from God himself, Stiles felt his chest constrict and bleed out in sympathetic pains.

Stiles glanced down, grabbing another spoonful of ice cream to avoid eye contact.  "Well...  I'll definitely be here for a while!  I like living with you guys.  Scott's fun to play games with," he said, with a gentle smile.

Isaac, with a blinding fury, began typing as fast as he could.

"Scott loves you.  He thinks you are his new dad.  Did you know that?  Scott told me one night that he wanted you to be his dad because you are nice and our dad is not nice."

"Oh," Stiles said, as his stomach did a backflip.  He could seriously get fired for that kind of thing.  Wolves were territorial enough as it is.  If Kyle Hale heard that, Stiles knew he'd probably end up puppy chow.  

"Well...  I'm not really your dad.  I'm your nanny, your friend, and..."

Stiles is interrupted as Isaac began furiously shaking his head and typing on the keypad.  

"Mom and dad don't come home.  They stay a night and go back away for work.  I don't know what they smell like anymore.  They are not pack.  They're like Laura and Cora.  They are not pack anymore too." Isaac explained.

Dropping his jaw, Stiles could literally feel the heartache out of Isaac's tiny little chest.  Scent and bonding was EVERYTHING to pack dynamics.  If Isaac couldn't even smell his parents anymore, then there was no wonder he had psychological issues and didn't want to speak.  Wolves had gone insane for less, struggling to find their place in the world and in the family.

They all had a gaping hole in their hearts.

A hole that probably caused Isaac's muteness.

Which would also explain Derek's rebellious attitude.  

And Scott's bed wetting.  

Hell, the whole family dysfunction made sense.

In their own ways through their subconscious, they were expressing their dissatisfaction with their Alpha.  Whatever was going through Talia and Kyle's heads, Stiles couldn't even begin to fathom.  

Did they not realize what they were doing?

"That's why Derek is grumpy.  He doesn't have a pack scent anymore.  When mom and dad come home, he doesn't let them scent with him.  He's a loner wolf now.  My teacher at school says that he is sick now and won't get better." Isaac said with a frown, after a small eternity of typing.

Stiles gasped quietly under his breath.  As much as the "lone wolf" was a cool and trendy thing for high school specials and romance novels, in reality, it was the single most terrifying and saddening status for a werewolf.  It meant they didn't have a pack, no family, and was the human equivalent of being an orphan.  An outcast.  For a social species like werewolves, it was a death sentence.

Before he even realized it, Stiles had put his arm around Isaac.  He didn't know what to say, but he could at least comfort Isaac.  The boy held up his Voiceless to Stiles.  

"Can you fix my big brother?  Derek was fun before.  Now he's just sad all the time."

Stiles, flabbergasted, just shook his head.  "Isaac...  I like Derek a lot, but...  I can only do what Derek wants me to do.  I don't think he likes me very much," he explained.

Fervently, Isaac shook his head.

"Derek likes you too.  He won't say it but he does!  I smell relaxed from him when you are around.  He does not hate you like he did the other nannies."

"Really?" Stiles asked, clearly confused.  

Isaac smiled and nodded, typing out another string of words.  fsa

"Yes.  We all like you Stiles.  You are fun and don't make us do stuff we don't want to.  Nanny Biblo would put me in time out when i did not talk to her, and tried to make scott wear a baby diaper to bed.  You don't do that.  You are REALLY cool."

Clearing his throat, Stiles tried hard not to let his inner glee show.  "Yeah, well, uh...  You guys are really cool too, you know.  I think I…  I think I might just…” he said, pausing for a moment as he touched Isaac’s hand.  “I’ll stay with you guys as long as I can,” he answered.

For a rare moment, Stiles saw Isaac genuinely smile.

 

 


	6. Chapter 6

Two and a half months.  

That's how long Stiles had been in the Hale Home, and that's how long it had been since he'd seen EITHER of his employers.  October had just started, and just like Isaac had said, the few times they DID come home?  They went to their rooms, slept, and was on their jet the next morning before any of them could be seen.  

It was clear that the Hale parents wanted nothing to do with their youngest sons.   

Equal parts infuriating and heartbreaking, Stiles still managed to keep his mouth shut.  A gargantuan task, to say the last, but he'd rather not get fired and leave the kids all alone again.  Which is also why he'd called Dr. McCall and scheduled an appointment for himself.  He hadn't seen her since...  "The News" nearly 3 years ago, but if he was going to be a long term commitment for the kids, and also be able to explain to Lydia and Danny EVERYTHING, he had steps to take beforehand.  

All of that weighed on his mind, and Stiles hadn't slept well in three days, with worry dangling constantly in the back of his head.

Thankfully, the kids kept his head level and his mind occupied.  

Isaac had a birthday coming up shortly, and Stiles was already plotting for the baking-ocalypse that was going to be Jackson's kitchen so he could bring the kid and his classmates something cake-related.  He prayed it would not be like the fire of '99 when he tried to make his father a cake, and that 4 years of college would make him a better man in the common sense department.  

Then there was Derek who was, naturally, the little shitlord he always was.  While he hadn't gotten suspended since Stiles had become his nanny, he was failing two of his classes at 5 weeks, and both teachers were FED UP.  Really, Stiles didn't understand it either.  He SAW Derek doing his homework every night, and had access to the online grading system that showed he did FANTASTIC on the homework and project assignments, but.. . When it came to tests, he bombed, never getting much of anything over a 60, if even that.  Stiles was going to have to have a talk with the teen and his teachers, but that would have to wait.

Because most pressingly was little Scott, who was laid out on his tiny bed, having sweat through his third set of pajamas in the last twelve hours.  Stiles helped the child get his numb arms and legs through a set of athletic shorts and a tank t-shirt.  Offering no help, Scott just whined quietly through his nose, in between hacking up a lung and sneezing out globs of snot.

Fenris is what Dr. Reed, the Hale Family pediatrician, had called the disease, which basically amounted to the werewolf equivalent of the flu, sans the nausea and with plenty more fever.  Stiles was in no danger of catching it, but Derek and Isaac could, so he'd isolated himself and Scott in Scott's room, shutting the door and letting Jackson help with the other two kids.

Stiles, finished with what he hoped was a far cooler alternative to the long pajamas Scott was used to wearing, reached over for the ear thermometer that was on Scott's dresser.  He turned the machine on and gently ran his hands through Scott's hair.  "Scott, I'm checking your temperature, okay?" he asked.

Coughing, Scott whined quietly.  "Don't wanna....  It hurts...." he said, unable to even move his hands up to his ears in order to protest.

"Hey now...  I'll be gentle, I promise," Stiles said, patting Scott on the head.  He moved the thermometer to Scott's ear and carefully pushed it in.  Knowing that werewolves had incredibly sensitive ears, it was no wonder that Scott didn't want things shoved inside of it.  Luckily, Stiles found a brand of ear thermometers that had a soft tip and didn't make a blaring beep noise when done.  Instead, Stiles had to count to 30, but he could hopefully manage that.  

After the thirty seconds were up, Stiles pulled out the thermometer, and checked the gauge.  

105\.  

Stiles cringed, knowing how HOT Scott must be feeling, but also tried to remember that the fatal body temperature for a werewolf was 113.  Still, the high fever was actually a good thing.  It meant that the bout of Fenris was about over.  Once the body hit around 105-107, it meant that there was so much immune combat going on inside of the werewolf child that no disease had any chance of surviving.  Which was why werewolves were RARELY ever sick, and only specialized strains of werewolf-resistant bacteria or viruses ever made them truly ill.  

"Stiles, I'm hot...  I hurt...  Make it go away....  I don't feel good," Scott said, in the most heartbreaking sound a five-year-old could muster.

Pouting, Stiles bent back down to his side.  He retrieved a washcloth he'd had sitting in a bucket of ice water, and ran it over Scott's forehead.  "Hey now...  It's almost over, I promise.  Probably just a few more hours and you'll start feeling a whole lot better," he said, hoping that was actually the case.  

Writhing uncomfortably, Scott didn't seem to thrilled with that news.  

"I don't like being sick...  My nose don't work and I can't smell nothin'," Scott said, pointing to the runny nose that was slick with snot.

Trying not to vomit, Stiles snagged a tissue or three from a well-worn box and put it up to Scott's nose.  "Blow," he said, praying he didn't get the ick all over him.

With the force of a freight train, Scott tried desperately to clear his nasal passage.  Once he was finished, Stiles wiped the rest of it away, discarding the used tissue in a trash can filled with them.  

As Scott let loose a rasping cough, Stiles tried to grab a glass of juice that Scott had been sipping on, only to realize it was completely empty.  

"Just a second Scott, I'll be right back with a glass of juice.  Would you like anything else?" Stiles asked.

Pouting, Scott continued to whine like a puppy through his nose.  "I'm hungry...  I don't want juice.  I want a STEAK," he demanded for the hundredth time.

Stiles tried to not goran.  He'd already tried to explain why Scott couldn't eat solids like that, but getting that through a child's head was difficult.  

"I'll see if Jackson has any.  If he doesnt, how about something smaller?  Like crackers or fruit?" he asked.

Pretending that Scott said "sure Stiles, that's a great idea" instead of the low groan, growl and whine that came from the bed.  

Stiles made his way downstairs, avoiding the other kids' rooms, not wanting to spread the ick.  Reaching the first floor, Stiles was met with Jackson, who was busily cooking something in the oven.  

"How's he doing?" Jackson ask, looking up from a stovetop of bacon frying.  

Sighing, Stiles shook his head.  "The fever is at its worst, so the doctor and medical books all say he should be better shortly.  He's just got to kill all the bacteria and he'll start healing," he explained, moving to the fridge.  Grabbing a can of soda for himself and an individual bottle of orange juice for Scott.  

"So how's the biting and snarling?  Last time I got Isaac and Scott through the Fenris, I thought they were going to murder me.  Especially Scott, he's always so...  Violent," Jackson laughed, glancing over and inspecting Stiles' arms and face.

"What?  You're insane, Scott is just like...  Layed out doing nothing.  Poor thing is sick as a do-...  Uh...  Sick as a cat?" Stiles said, hoping to avoid the bad pun.

Jackson put down his spatula, folding his arms.  "You're kidding me...  When weres are sick, they're the single most violent creature imaginable.  In fact, the only ones who can calm them are the-.." he said, glancing away.  

"Who?" Stiles asked.

Sighing, Jackson turned back around to his dinner.  "Their parents.  One time they were here when the kids were sick.  Scott and Isaac calmed down immediately, just submitting and let Talia and Kyle take care of them.  Later, Talia told me that the only people that a were will ever submit their rage to is their alpha, their parents, or their mate," he explained.

Stiles rose an eyebrow.  He recalled that Isaac said Scott thought of him like a parent, though he'd originally thought the pup was exaggerating.  "So where does that put me?" he asked.  

"If Scott is actually seeing you as a pseudo-Alpha or a parent, this is serious.  Weres are territorial and downright murderous when it comes to their pups.  You can get fired for that kind of thing, at WORST.  I'd keep that quiet if I were you," Jackson said, he said, turning off the burners.  He took a deep breath.  "Listen...  These kids love you, and they're actually looking somewhat less depressed than usual.  Which I'm guessing might have about...  10% to do with you, a conservative estimate.  So...  Don't do anything stupid, and I'll help you keep a low profile.  Not that you have to worry much about Talia and Kyle.  They have...  Other issues to deal with, apparently," he explained, flipping the cooked bacon into a plate to dry.  

Plopping down at the kitchen island, Stiles popped his can of soda.  "So, speaking freely...  What the fuck is up with those two?  It's been two months since I saw them, and if I didn't weigh a hundred pounds sopping wet or care about losing my job, I'd call those asshole alphas up and verbally assault them before being brutally murdered with claws and fangs..." he asked.

Jackson shook his head while stifling a laugh.  "I don't know.  After Cora left for college, they...  They became a lot more distant with their sons.  It's when they both got very involved with HaleCorp, and began working on a lot of on-hands medical testing and research.  I asked Laura, she's just as worried as I am about it, but...  She can't get anything out of them," he admitted reluctantly.  

"STILES!" Scott screamed from all the way upstairs, following the most pathetic whine he'd ever heard in his short time around werewolves.  

Choosing to have that conversation at a different time, Stiles snagged Scott's juice.  "Can you make him something light?  Like chicken noodle soup?" he asked.

Jackson snorted.  "How about shredded pot roast in a beef broth, werewolf equivalent of chicken noodle.  If you give that kid chicken noodle, he will EAT you instead.  Trust me on this, there are things you can't learn in books, and nobody knows these kids like me," he admitted proudly.  

"I don't doubt it," Stiles said, smirking.  Really, besides himself, the only other one the kids even remotely interacted with was Jackson.  Or "Whitt", as they apparently found fit to call him.  "Can you bring it up to him?"

"Naturally," Jackson responded.

Smiling, Stiles nodded.  "Thanks, I'll let him know.  ," he replied, jogging upstairs as quickly as he could.  He re-entered Scott's room, shaking the bottle of juice in the air.  "Sorry, I talked to Jackson.  He's bringing you pot roast soup," he said, twisting open the cap and handing the juice to the child.  

Reluctantly, Scott took it, sipping the beverage.  He looked away from Stiles, clutching the juice bottle tightly.  "I thought you were leaving me alone..." he whimpered.  

"Now why would I do that?" Stiles asked.

Pouting, Scott took another long drink of his juice.  "Last time I was sick, Daddy went downstairs to get me a drink.  Daddy didn't come back, Whitt had to come bring me stuff.  He had to go to work," he said, in between snotty sounds and loud coughs.  

Knowing it wasn't worth trying to explain the intricacies of absentee parents, Stiles shook his head.  "So when you get better, what would you like to do?  I say you and I have a day just to ourselves.  Want to go to the used video game store?  I say it's high time you got introduced to some awesome classics," he said with a playful smile.  He then proceeded to ruffle Scott's hair.  "I may even go easy on you," he proclaimed.

A mild smile covered Scott's face.  "That sounds fun," he said, calming down.  

Scott leaned back into bed, huffing as he closed his eyes.  He relaxed, resting his head on the soft pillow.

"Why don't you take a nap for a while.  When you wake up, we'll get you some lunch, and by then I bet you'll start to feel better," Stiles said.  

Grabbing Stiles' arm, Scott held onto it for dear life.  "Stay?" he asked, already halfway asleep.

A quiet chuckle left Stiles' throat.  "Of course," he answered, patting Scott's hand.

_

The fever had broken about five hours after the bath, thankfully while Scott was still sleeping.  Glancing at the thermometer he'd finishing using, Stiles was happy to see 99 degrees on the digital readout.

Stiles had stayed with him the entire time, up until Jackson knocked quietly on the door.

"Nanny Stiles?  Scott?  May I come in?" Jackson asked.

Stiles turned to the door, as Scott started to stir in his sleep.  "Come on in Jackson, he's waking up.  I'm sure he's starving," he answered.

Pushing open the door, Jackson entered the room with a tray, filled with steaming hot soup and several glasses of ice water.  "How's he doing?" he asked.

Stiles smiled.  "Fever is down, he should be back to normal shortly.  Which means he'll be a garbage disposal and want that lunch YESTERDAY," he answered, shaking Scott to help wake him up.  "Come on Scotty, lunch is ready!" he announced.

With a loud growl coming from his stomach, Scott lifted himself up into a sitting position.  "Daddy?  Is it time to go buy video games?" Scott asked, wiping his eyes of sleep with one eye, and grabbing Stiles' arm with the other.  Though as his eyes opened up fully, Scott flushed.  "I UH...  I mean STILES!" he announced, clearly embarrassed.

Jackson chuckled, laying his food tray over Scott's lap.  "Eat up kiddo," he said, smiling as he leaned up, grabbing Scott's dirty clothes that had been spread out over his floor.  

"Thanks Whitt," Scott answered, grabbing the bowl and drinking straight from it.  He avoided eye contact with Stiles, still embarrassed.  

Stiles knew this and smirked.  "You know, if you'd like to call me something like that, I don't mind Scott.  Whatever makes you most comfortable," he said, standing up and stretching in the air.  

Scott nodded, still hiding his face in the bowl of soup that Stiles KNEW was already empty.  


	7. Chapter 7

Stiles never really figured himself for a parent or a parent-liked figure.  His youth had a lot to do with it, and he hated his “baby face” that still got him carded anytime he bought alcohol.  Then again, also being fairly immature at times in his high school and college years had plenty more to do with it.  

So it was with that in mind that Stiles felt like a “pretender” amongst the parents at the high school parent teacher conferences.  They all stared at him, all wondering what he was doing there with glazed over glares.  Which, granted, would be a normal reaction.  Stiles was far too young to have a child in high school, unless there was some grade a Jerry Springer shit going on.  Either way, they were all dying to ask.

Ignoring them, Stiles waited patiently outside of Mr. Neyland’s classroom to meet with Derek’s English teacher.  He worked and plotted on his phone’s calendar, sighing loudly.  There was a lot to do in the next few days.  He had his appointment with Melissa McCall the next morning, followed by Lydia and Danny’s luncheon.  Not to mention Scott’s birthday.  All of that, unfortunately, had to be scheduled way too close to parent-teacher conferences.  

Isaac’s conference had gone very well.  His new teacher, Mr. Raines, had been a large improvement over the last one.  Speaking highly of Isaac, Mr. Raines assured Stiles that his Voiceless tool would be more than welcome in the classroom.  All in all, a very positive night, especially given that Isaac was acing all of his coursework.  There was even talk of having him skip a grade, with only his “social difficulties” being in the way.  

Derek’s?  Three teachers in, and Stiles was already furious with them.  Mr. Harris, the Chemistry Devil was still alive and kicking.  Apparently despite Derek’s great homework skills and general knowledge, he seemed to be failing at all the tests.  Harris offered Stiles the suggestion to have Derek drop out and try something more “on his intellectual level”, such as Rock Science.  

The math teacher, Mrs. Tate, wasn’t much better.  While she was more sympathetic to Derek’s plight (and remarked that he was steadily improving), she too thought that Derek needed to be in remedial courses.  

There was a connection, that was for sure.  Math and Chemistry were closely tied, and Stiles wondered if there was some sort of “block”.  He’d have to look into things sooner.

Though the thoughts would have to wait for later.  

“Mr. Hale?” a man asked.

“Right here, sort of!” Stiles said, raising his head, and was met with.

“Get the hell out,” a buzz-cut musclehead of a teacher said.  He had strong facial structure, and a hard-lined jaw.  A bright smile covered his face.

Stiles laughed loudly.  “Aiden Neyland.  Seriously?!  You got married?  I haven’t seen you since high school!” he exclaimed, standing up and offering his hand immediately.  

The two men pulled each other into a hug, chuckling at the weird coincidence.

“Lemme guess…  Mr. Hale couldn’t be here again, and…  You’re the new Nanny?” Aiden said, sighing loudly.

Shaking his head, Stiles rubbed his forehead.  “You know how many times I’ve heard that tonight?  I’m getting the feeling all of you hate me,” he joked, as they broke their hug.  

“Well, I suppose we’re all just a little disappointed.  There’s a lot to talk about Derek, and…  Well, why don’t we go inside?” Aiden said, directing Stiles through the classroom door.  

They proceeded inside the typical Beacon Hills classroom, unchanged even since Stiles had been walking through their halls.  Thirty desks lined up all in a row, in front of a whiteboard that was well written on.  Stiles could still see the bright red stain in the middle from Lydia’s mistake with a permanent marker.

Stiles took a seat across from Aiden’s desk, and was immediately handed a piece of paper.  

“With the school’s counselor on maternity leave, they left it to the English teachers to hand out the report cards tonight.  So…  Here’s Derek’s.  Why don’t you look it over, and I think it will go a long ways to start our conversation tonight,” Aiden said.

Taking the report card, Stiles glanced it over carefully.

 

Athletics (Lacrosse): A - 100

Mathematics (Geometry) :  D -  64

English (Advanced Placement Literature) : A - 109

Social Sciences (Government) : C - 73

Sciences (Chemistry) - F - 52

Elective (French) - A - 93

Elective  (Spanish) -  A - 98

 

“I take it Mr. Harris is still teaching Chemistry?”  Stiles said, staring painfully at that failing grade.  Though as he glanced over the rest of them, Stiles had to do a double take.

"Notice that one of these things just doesn't belong here?" Aiden said, smiling smugly..  

Stiles shook his head.  "This is...  THis is the WEIRDEST hodgepodge of grades that I've ever seen before.  Oh, and holy shit, what the hell is with that AP Lit grade?  Did he bribe you?" he asked.

Aiden chuckled.  "No, I’m a bribe-free teacher.  Though I can say he does every extra assignment possible and is one of the brightest young writers I’ve ever had the pleasure of teaching.  Which has only been for a few years, but it’s the thought that counts,” he explained with a smile.  “Though it's thanks to that grade that he can keep playing lacrosse, it keeps his GPA up," he answered.

“Explans a lot,” Stiles said, still glancing over the grades.  “French and Spanish?  Pretty remarkable there too, it’s just…  Wow,” he said.  The surprise must have been obvious based on Aiden’s small laughter.  Then again, Stiles never really expected Derek to have any good grades.  

Taking a deep breath, Aiden laced his fingertips together.  “May I speak freely?  You’re not as stuffy as the other Nannies were,” he offered.

“Sure,” Stiles said, crossing his legs.  He returned eye contact with Aiden.

“Teaching is different between the natural and the supernatural children.  Despite us all having a soul and being born under the same sun, we’re all different,” Aiden said, gently touching a photograph on his desk of a white haired beauty holding onto him tightly.  He smiled.  “Derek is a werewolf.  Most weres I teach are all very driven individuals, straight a’s, and striving to be the best they can be.  Do you know why?” he asked.

Stiles shrugged.  “For the pack?” he offered.

Aiden shook his head.  “For their Alpha,” he said, sighing as he looked away.  “Werewolves in packs, even in their human selves, have an irresistible urge to be given praise and approval from their Alpha, not unlike a human child seeking the same thing from a blood relative or “hero”.  It’s engrained in their psyche to feel like a failure if they don’t please their Alpha.  So they go out of their way to avoid that,” he explained.

“And Derek definitely doesn’t fall into that situation,” Stiles sighed, shaking his head.

“It’s no secret in the school that Mr. And Mrs. Hale aren’t home very often.  The grapevine already tells me that Isaac has similar issues.  I wouldn’t be surprised if his younger brother was the same,” Aiden replied.  Slowly, he scratched his jaw.  “Which tells me that Derek feels as though he doesn’t have an Alpha to please.  For a werewolf to feel like that is…  A terrifying prospect,” he answered.

Stiles nodded.  “I could see that,” he said, sighing loudly.  “So then…  I suppose the only prospect is to get his parents involved?” he asked.  The idea of calling either one of the Hales and informing them that they’re being failures of alphas and parents wasn’t an appealing one.  Stiles liked his guts exactly where they were, he didn’t want them all over the walls.

“Or, there’s the other option.  Something I’ve been reading…” Aiden said.

“Which would be?” Stiles asked.  The idea of his guts staying where they were inspired a lovely hope sparking in his belly.

“Derek needs an Alpha.  A new Alpha.  New studies are showing that a werewolf doesn’t necessarily have to bond with their birth-alpha.  A surrogate is…  Possible, given the right kind of circumstances,” Aiden offered, clearing his throat.  

Stiles rose an eyebrow.  “You’re not saying…”

“I am,” Aiden said, leaning back in his chair.  “While you’ll never be the same as Mr. and Mrs. Hale, Derek needs someone to give him praise.  Someone to keep him on the straight and narrow.  Someone for him to fight for, someone to fight for him.  A bond that lets him know he’s taken care of and a bond that gives him something to respect.  Which…  I believe would be you,” he said, pointing in Stiles’ direction.

“Me?!  Are you insane?!” Stiles sputtered out.  The idea was preposterous.  He’d known Derek for all of a month or two.  Being a fake Alpha for him?  Impossible.

Aiden nodded.  “The other day, I heard an interesting conversation between Derek and his boyfriend Parrish,” he said, leaning over his desk.  “Argent and Deaton wanted to skip school and head to the mall.  Even Parrish was wanting to go, and I was 900% sure I was about to bust them all.  Then, I heard it,” he said, chuckling.

“What?  What’s so funny?” Stiles asked, suddenly getting very nervous.

Shaking his head, Aiden scoffed.  “Derek informed them to get their asses back in their chairs, because if he couldn’t go to the mall, they weren’t going.  When Argent threw a fit and asked why, Derek informed her that he’d made a promise with his Manny to not get into any more “shit”, if you’ll excuse the language,” he explained.

Stiles, taken aback, recalled their earlier conversation that month.  Wherein Derek could go out, as long as he didn’t get into any more trouble at school.  He smiled, pleased with the level of trust Derek had for him and for himself.  

“That kind of excuse is what I hear from my Werekids.  Saying they can’t go out because their Alpha wanted them home, or they can’t watch a movie because their Alpha said so.  Even if you aren’t a were, and aren’t a parent to Derek, I think he’s seeing you as a pseudo-alpha figure.  Though based on what the other Nannies said, I’m assuming you’re the first person to ever give a damn about him,” Aiden explained.

Stiles wanted to both beam with pride and curl up into a ball and die.  He was proud that he was doing something right in Derek’s life, but..  If Talia or Kyle ever found out, they’d probably murder Stiles and then cook his corpse on an open flame for dinner.

“Not sure how “deep” you’re in with this family Stiles, but…  Derek seems to be responding well to you.  He hasn’t had an outburst in school for a month, and is generally more behaved.  Sure his schoolwork is still lax, but…  We’re all very hopeful right now.  You hold this young man’s future in your hands, and…  It’s up to you to mold him,” Aiden explained warmly.

Groaning, Stiles banged his head against Aiden’s desk.  

“Deep” didn’t even describe how far down he was in the Hale family pool of problems.  

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

By the time Stiles got home from the parent teacher conferences, Scott was already conked out on the couch.  He wanted to wait for “his Stiles” (yet more deepness) to come home so he could get tucked in “the right way” (deeper than deep at this point).  

Then there was Isaac.  The boy was beaming as Stiles got in, using his Voiceless to tell Stiles excitedly about his day with Whitt.  

Derek was Derek, sitting in the kitchen nursing a cup of coffee while reading the lastest hot rod magazine he always seemed enamored with.

By the time he tucked Scott in “the right way”, and after Isaac had calmed down to return to the cartoons he’d been watching earlier, it was practically nine at night.  

Stiles changed into his nightclothes, and slowly made his way into the kitchen.  Derek was still there, tapping his foot impatiently.

“Figure you’ve got a lot to say to me,” Derek grumbled, trying to avoid Stiles’ eyes.  

Moving over to the coffee pot, Stiles was immediately appreciative of Whitt’s addiction.  He reached up into the cabinets, pulling down the largest one he could find.  

“I get it.  You’re a nanny.  You’re a cool nanny, but you still have to do the whole kid raising thing, so just get it over with,” Derek spat.  Even without looking at Derek, Stiles could tell his wording was nervous.  

As if he feared the upcoming chastisement.

Aiden’s words rang in Stiles’ head, recalling how the other werekids acted.  Not that Stiles didn’t know any of that, he’d read plenty of books to know how they acted, but…  Books couldn’t really ever prepare him for the feelings associated with this.  The idea of a fake alpha, even if there were studies that Aiden had quoted him, was just as disconcerting.

Stiles took a deep breath.

“Your teachers had a lot to say!” Stiles said, pouring himself a cup of coffee.  Operation “Ersatz Alpha” was apparently going to be enacted, God help him.  May his eventually crispy corpse provide good sustenance.  

Derek rolled his eyes.  “Let me guess.  You’re going to ground me for not trying.  Well let me tell you something, that Harris is a fucking bitch ass piece of shit.  He’s flunking me on purpose because I called him out on being a douchebag and I know he gives me a harder test.  I-”

“I had no idea you were taking French and Spanish!  It’s got to be hard learning words in two different languages!  That’s incredible!  I have a near perfect memory, and even I had trouble learning German in college!” Stiles said, cutting Derek’s rant short.  He tried to smile gleefully.

Speechless, Derek could only stare surprisingly at Stiles.  His mouth, for once, was firmly shut.  

Stirring in a little sugar to his coffee, Stiles took a seat across from Derek.

“Your AP Lit grade is also..  Just amazing!!  Seriously, that's a great accomplishment, I bet you’ll do amazing on the AP exam and completely clep out of College Comp," Stiles said positively.  

Derek rose an eyebrow, and was obviously checking his heart rate for lies.  He was obviously surprised when no lie was detected, and turned back down to his car magazine, a gentle flush on his face.  "It's not hard.  It's reading," he spat defensively.  

Stiles could see Derek’s tense shoulders relaxing, even if only a little.

" Looks like you've got a knack for words.  Are you interested in the literary arts?  I was never good at writing.  Reading?  That’s my forte, but I could never be all that creative," Stiles said.  He gave Derek a thumbs up.

Rolling his eyes, Derek flipped a page in his magazine.  “It’s easy.  It’s not like being a Doctor.  Any idiot can do it,” he answered bitterly.  There was a little more spite in the words than Stiles liked.

“Well, I still say it’s impressive,” Stiles said, taking a long drink of his warm mug.  He took a deep breath.  “Though your math and science grades are…  Lacking,” he said.

Derek snorted through his nose, not unlike that of an angry dog.  “Duh.  I’m an idiot, did you not get that memo?” he answered.  Though his attitude was nonchalant, his face spoke more to his feeling.  The pained grimace, the grip on his magazine tightened.  His eyes burned grimly, with his gaze focused on the pages in front of him.  As if Stiles’ words had set him off into a wave of shame.

Which brought Stiles full circle.

“You’re a big Alpha Nanny.  So put on your Alpha panties and just…  Do it already!” Stiles thought to himself.

Stiles shook his head.  “I don’t think you’re an idiot.  I see you doing your homework every night, and I see how hard you work in your other classes now.  Despite that mouth of yours, I know deep down you care.  So I…  I just want to know what’s going on with you,” he said

Gripping his magazine tightly, Derek ripped into the pages.  His claws were out.  

“Derek?” Stiles asked.

A low growl forced Stiles to flinch.  

“I…  I’m a failure.  I’ve always been a failure.  You don’t have to try and fix me.  Just…  For fuck’s sake…” Derek said, throwing his magazine to the side.  He threw his hands into his face and was growling angrily.  

Stiles shook his head again.  “Derek, you’re not a failure.  Why would you think that?” he asked, his heart pained.  He glanced up, watching as Jackson stood in the entryway to the laundry room.  His face was just as gloomy as Derek’s.

The teen was silent.  His growl was gone, but so was most of the color in his face.

“You’re the Alpha Nanny.  Get it over with.”

Stiles shut his eyes.  “Derek.  Tell me why you think you’re a failure.  Right now,” he said, in the firmest voice he could muster.

Letting his head drop and thud on the table.  “I’m…  I’m not…  I’m not like Laura or Cora.  I’m never and I never will be.  So why even try?,” he answered quietly.

“You’re..  What?” Stiles asked, recalling that the Hales did have two older daughters.  Laura, the…  Laura the doctor, and Cora the girl wanting to be a doctor.

“It’s easy.  It’s not like being a Doctor.  Any idiot can do it.”

Stiles bit the bottom of his lip.  “Derek…  Is that why you’re failing math and science?  You’re doing it…  On purpose?” he asked.

There was no response.

Taking another deep breath, Stiles sighed.  “Derek.  Tell me exactly how you feel.  Right now,” he said, once again trying the “Alpha Nanny” technique.

Something broke.  Stiles saw it in Derek’s eyes when they came up to meet his.

“Do you know what it’s like?  Having two older sisters who are so fucking perfect all the time?!  Big successes, just like mom and dad always wanted!” Derek roared, standing up and pacing back and forth between the kitchen.  “ME?  Scott?  Isaac?  We’re the afterthoughts.  The kids mom and dad never really wanted to fucking have, but had anyway because that’s what a fucking pack is.  They TOLD us that.  TOLD us not to worry about doing anything, because Laura and Cora were all they needed to take care of the pack!” he barked.  

Stiles’ heart sank.  He stood up, without even realizing it, just staring at Derek going into a rage.

“I TRIED.  I TRIED to be like my big sisters.  I wanted Mom and Dad to like me just as much as they liked them!  I wanted to make my Alpha PROUD.  Not be a useless runt that got taken care of his entire life!  It’s worth than death!” Derek bellowed, grabbing one of the chairs and throwing it against the wall.  It splintered into nothing.

“I had straight As up until the ninth grade.  They were proud of me!  Told me I had what it took to be just as smart at my big sisters.  Then, it fucking happened.  One B.  ONE B on a report card, in MATH, and…  And they…” Derek said, as he stopped moving.  Though no tears were shed, Stiles could tell his insides were being ripped apart.  “They stopped caring.  It was like…  Like they…  They made an excuse to be anywhere else but some after Cora went to college.  As if their den, their home, wasn’t worth their time anymore.  Isaac always had average grades, so I knew they’d never care about him, and Scott’s special, so…  I guess…  I guess they felt like they didn’t have any more success stories to worry about.  So that just left Whitt and whatever nanny they could hire to take care of us,” he said, dropping down and sliding against the wall he’d been standing against.

Stiles couldn’t comprehend that kind of logic.  There was…  There was no way there were parents out there like that, right?  Sure, there were abusive parents.  Sure, there were child molesters as parents.  But…  Could there actually be parents that just…  Didn’t even care?  As if their children were fish in an aquarium?  Something to be admired if they were bright, exotic, and beautiful, or ignored if they were goldfish?  

Though it made sense.  Who else would shell out the kind of money to hire a nanny like the Hales had been paying Stiles?  Who else would not come home for months at a time?  

Stiles walked over to Derek’s side, sliding down the wall and sitting next to him.

“I’m sick of it!  I’m sick of all of this fucking bullshit!  I hate this pack!  I hate my parents!  I hate this family!  I hate my sisters!  I hate…  I hate!....”

“Yourself?” Stiles asked.

Something new broke in Derek.  His stopped moving, he stopped shaking, and his breathing became labored.  Refusing to shed tears, Derek just hid his face in his knees as he curled into a ball.  

Stiles put his hand on Derek’s shoulder, clenching it tightly.

“Derek?  Stiles?” Scott asked.

Glancing up, Stiles saw the scared and sleepy face of Scott.  Isaac was right behind him, holding onto his younger brother’s shoulders.  They had the same pained looks on their faces.

Stiles tried to smile.  “Hey…  Come on over here,” he said, watching as they both clambered over.  Scott immediately took his place in Stiles’ lap, while Isaac laid his head on Derek’s shoulder.  

“Sorry I yelled all of that pipsqueaks,” Derek said quietly.  He sighed loudly.  “I…  I didn’t mean you guys to hear all that, but I…  Sorry,” he said again quietly.

An unspoken bond between the brothers, the grimaced looks and sad eyes, told Stiles that all the children knew that their parents didn’t want to bother with them.  Like Derek said, they were all window dressing to an otherwise perfect family.  

To some people, that would be a life worth living, so long as there was money involved.

“I’m proud of all of you,” Stiles said, putting his free arm around Scott and smiling.  “Scott, I’m proud that you haven’t wet the bed in three days and your teacher says you’re already learning how to read in preschool.  Isaac, I’m proud of you for communicating with us and for all your accomplishments in school,” he said, before finally running his hand on Derek’s neck.  

He knew the teen wasn’t fond of scenting, and Stiles was even more uncomfortable doing it, but..  Maybe it was what he needed.

“I’m proud of you Derek, for being an amazing person and sticking through all the hard times.  You’re a strong man, and someone I’m glad I know,” Stiles explained.

Just as Stiles took his hand away from Derek’s neck, the teen snatched his hand.  Derek held Stilles’ hand for just a moment, before finally rubbing it across his cheek.  

Scott joined in quickly, landing his face right in Stiles’ chest and yawning loudly.  There was no doubt in Stiles’ mind that he’d be carrying Scott to bed later.  

Though perhaps the most telling sign of all was Isaac, who managed to climb in between Stiles and Derek, sighing softly.  “I like this,” he said in a near whisper.

Jackson would trip over the carpet hearing the boy’s voice again for the first time in years.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I got distracted with my other stories, sorry! D:


End file.
